


The Warrior Chronicles

by AniJen21



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Epic, Family, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 87,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18622900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniJen21/pseuds/AniJen21
Summary: The story of a young warrior's struggle to find love, acceptance, and purpose in an unforgiving war. A sprawling, action-packed epic that spans the galaxy, investigating issues of Andalite and Yeerk class, gender, and race. AU, lots of OCs.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Something had changed.

The highest branches of the trees over my head undulated, provoked by some massive quantity of energy. A searing mirage disturbed the image of the full moon. Moments later, a rush of heat followed a rumble of impact. My stalk eyes registered a subtle change in lighting about half a mile away. A bluish, unearthly explosion. Tremors rippled from the northeast. Instinct turned me in that direction.

Combat instructors stress deep concentration on the natural world. Note the taste of air, they say, the soft, transient hum that radiates from the living, the incessant microcosmic changes caused by infinite influences. That rush of heat had changed the world. I hadn't felt that rush of heat since my brother had come home to visit for the first time. It was heat that did not dissipate or spread, heat that stabbed and penetrated. Heat you could feel in your gut. In your brain. In your hearts.

It was an Andalite vessel.

I started running. My hooves pounded into the damp, living Earth and I tore across the forest. Heat enveloped my body, and sweat poured from my glands to counteract it. I ran as fast as I could, and soon there was a bright light, a hissing noise, and the smell of industrial fire.

A tunnel of flame had been cut through the trees, a thick half-pipe of smoke and fire descending through the forest at a shallow angle to the ground. A long, tilled mess of tree trunks, earth, branches, and smoke led a path straight to the ovoid, stunningly bright ship, obvious against the inky night. Its cloak must have been disabled upon impact. A curved shredder emerged from the back, torn and hanging by a single sheath of hull. Volatile, blue ammunition fuel oozed out, like from a wound. It was fatter than most fighters I had seen, unfamiliar and scorched but still mine.

I approached quickly over the lumpy, jagged earth, bounding gracelessly over shredded trees and smoldering branches. I touched the ship's white surface—cool despite the atmospheric entry—and ran my hand along the smooth hull until a thin, bright door line appeared. My hand sunk into the surface, an engineered alloy which felt soft like polyurethane foam. The ship scanned me, verifying my species identity. The plane of the door began to sink into the ship, receding into the bright outline in microscopic layers as thin as liquid. A moment before I could enter, the door appeared as a tissue-thin, translucent membrane within which steam and sparks churned.

I peered inside the ship, but scorching exhaust blinded me and forced me to shield my eyes. I pressed my hoof into the inclined ground, tasting Andalite grass for the first time in months. It was singed, and too warm to taste right, but it was soft and moist. The perpetual indigestion I had earned from fibrous Earth grass melted away, and for just a moment, I was home.

Lost in nostalgia, I almost forgot where I was and what I was doing, but then I heard something. A warm, living picture emerged in my mind. It said. The picture was fuzzy at first, but sharpened as I focused, like I was turning some psychic knob on an invisible television set. It was the homeworld. A faceless man stood, holding a young girl's hand at sunset, while they watched someone burn in a pagan Andalite funeral. It was an antiquated ritual that was supposed to clear away all the poisonous emotions, but it never worked, and sadness still permeated the air, as thick as the steam. It submerged me, strangled me, and the grass tasted bland.

I climbed in further. The steam began to clear, and I started to piece together the layout of the ship. It was tipped at a frightening angle, a pool of blood collecting at the base of the door. I closed my hooves and proceeded, approaching its origin, trying to avoid it, but it was everywhere. I brushed my hand in front of my face, impatient with the atmosphere, and then I saw him.

A man. A grown warrior, thrown hooves over eyes, arm lodged behind his head, flank hanging over his broken body, crippled at the waist. His tail had snapped off, like the shredder of the ship, twitching with overloaded neurons, the source of most of the blood. He was smiling.

He was like light interrupted by a prism, bent and shattered. It was clear, even though his eyes were open, that he was dead.

I walked over to his body to investigate, to see if I could ascertain his time of death. It must have been recent, which meant perhaps he died upon impact—not before, suffocated by space or undone by weapon. Though the ship was designed for a single occupant, I could not abandon the hope that—

Then I saw it. Out of the corner of a stalk eye, a glimpse of something alive.

A hand.

I ducked beneath the billowing steam, realizing only now that it had cloaked a doorway to a second room. I hurried over, gripped the door frame, and peered behind the corner.

There was a girl.

She wasn't dead.

Her clumped fur was dark and shiny with blood, and she heaved in tainted air with broken lungs, splayed on the ground, edges of shattered bones ripping up through her flesh. But she wasn't dead. Her eyes were open, and they turned to me.

We made eye contact, but it didn't last long. She looked away, up at the holographic ceiling, still blanketed by smoke. I stepped closer to her, realizing that the closer I got, the stronger the images in my mind became. Now that she had noticed me, they were changing.

She was drinking water, and caught her reflection in the small pool. This was a memory from long ago; she was no more than a child. She inspected the face that shivered on the meniscus, and stroked the curves of flesh and bone that comprised her visage. She hadn't seen herself in a while, hadn't noticed that her face had lost its childish softness, hadn't noticed the sharp, frightening power that flashed behind her eyes. She ran her finger along the length of her jaw. Something made her smile. Suddenly, a large, masculine hand descended from behind her and grasped her shoulder. She turned a stalk eye to view his face. He was tall and powerful, and his dark eyes were displeased. She shrank beneath him.

The image faded, and I knelt over her body, overcome enough by our connection to ignore custom and touch her, investigate the curves that she had in her memory. Her face was sheathed in sweat and blood, and her body was mangled, but beneath all of that physical horror, a faint beauty shone through. I looked into her desperate, roving eyes. Her breath was ragged and panicking, sending sparks of blood from her nostrils, but then she acknowledged me, and she calmed down.

Her eyes focused on mine without roving or flinching. They fastened, and she held my gaze firmly in hers, without shame. I fell right through it, into her pain and terror and confusion, into her mind. I saw past the irises, past the pupils, past all of the sparkling flesh. Something significant and frightening happened. I lost myself in her, in that labyrinthine web of chaotic thought, and I was her again, looking into the face of an old man with a stern, scarred face. I wanted him to love me, but he was too angry with what I had done.

She was supposed to call him Sir, but as she reached toward me, eyes honest and terrified, I heard the gentle, trembling voice say, 

Then they slipped, rolling away, and she lost consciousness.

I wrapped my arms around her, hoisted her onto my back, and pulled her as carefully as I could from the wreckage. I realized I could not help her with the limited tools I had back at the scoop, so I grabbed a few things from the ship before disembarking. I found a thermal blanket, a Z-Space communicator, and most importantly, a first-aid kit with medical technology thousands of years more advanced than the primitive tools of Earth. As soon as we were far enough away, I grabbed the Shredder out of the girl's utility belt, set the dial to maximum, and destroyed the ship.

The blast was more contained than I predicted, which was an unexpected serendipity. I decided to risk exposing the crash site immediately rather than allowing the Yeerks to stumble upon it during some random sweep of the forest. I did my best to cover my trail as I carried her, but I realized that with this new information, the Yeerks would probably find my home within the week.

But I would worry about that later.

For now I had to save the girl.


	2. Chapter One: Jennor

Chapter One

Eighteen Years Earlier

Jennor-Elacable-Barees

The brighter of the brother suns of Andal was just rising as I pranced around our scoop like a foal, waiting for my Father, Warrior Sofor-Elacable-Halladran, to wake up.

I had felt anticipation radiating from him the night before, and as much as I attempted to contain my excitement, just as I had been instructed, I found it nearly impossible. He always maintained absolute restraint, and I rarely felt any tinge of emotion or feeling of any kind come from him at all. Notable exceptions were my first birthday when the sun set, and when my eyes had finally changed color.

I had no idea what this meant—when I first felt it, I got nervous, because I assumed the only thing my father could anticipate would be malevolent. Perhaps he was just apprehensive about my first day of formal training, but that did not explain why this anticipation had appeared so suddenly and so late. As the night wore on, I realized he was planning something. Something good. Something that might relate directly to me.

By the dawn's twilight, I had decided that his anticipation was something  _for_ me—a gift, something wonderful and mysterious, something which would create a new emotion in me, one I had never felt before—so for the past couple of hours I had been discreetly searching every hidden nook and cranny under the white canvas awning of our scoop, looking for any hints or signs. At first, I was silent, carefully prying away the leathery flaps of floor, slowly opening creaky cabinets, exploring hidden regions without disturbing them.

Of course, as the morning drew on and my father still had not awoken, I became careless, at one point even knocking a keepsake Hork-Bajir blade from my father's days in the war onto the floor, hoping now less to find the gift and more that I might accidentally wake him up.

Finally, as the bottom of the Elder sun crept over the horizon, and I was distracting myself by scuffing a small hole in the ground with my hoof, my father's warm hand descended onto my shoulder.

<Good morning,> he said in his low, distant, comforting voice. <You moved my blade, didn't you?>

I was prepared for this question, and responded: <I apologize, Father. I was only admiring its size.>

He lifted his hand off of my shoulder, and said, <Indeed. And remember, Jennor, do not address me so informally.>

<Yes, sir,> I whispered.

Shortly after, now convinced I had assumed incorrectly, Father and I headed out to feed. He took to multitasking, since he was not fond of wasting time. So "feeding" consisted of sprinting with all of our might through the gentle slopes of our community. We filled up fast, and reached the daily exercise requirement quickly, though the walk home was usually accompanied by thigh cramps and heaving diaphragms. We made our way up and down the hills of Andal, the pet name for the homeworld.

Terraforming that had taken place thousands of years ago made Andal a very predictable, manufactured planet. Our industrial revolution had greatly altered our planet's climate patterns, and tornados, blizzards, and wind storms became costly dangers to all Andalite herds. The Electorate had called a special council of climatologists to redesign the planet and account for the new weather patterns. They had recommended the changes we now witnessed.

The poles of the globe were now home to inhospitable mountain ranges, engineered so that the water which normally irrigated the planet in underground springs would not evaporate. The highest peaks of the mountains reached far outside of the atmosphere, while the equator was flat and moist—perfectly suitable for any Andalite. Despite Father's service in the war, we did not have the honored status to live on the flat, opulent equator, so instead we lived in the northern hemisphere at the very base of the mountain range. We could see their jagged silhouettes from our scoop. I thought they were beautiful, but Father thought they were a disgrace. He called them the gates of hell, an especially frightening moniker since most Andalites considered any speculation about death unnecessary and childish.

We continued trotting back to the scoop as I glanced at my favorite mountain. It was a huge monolith that extended far up, so far that I could see the point where the stable moisture in the air draped off of it like a translucent shroud. It was curved, like a giant tail blade, sharp and elegant. Though much of the history about the Great Terraforming had been lost, I was sure that the engineers had designed it that way.

I wiped my brow as we came upon our scoop, and, as always, I allowed my Father to enter first. However, this time, he instructed me to remain outside while he fetched something.

My primary heart leaped into my abdomen. A new emotion emerged within me, something strange, poisonous, and strong. It was unfulfilled, but yearning, powerful and uncomfortable. I wanted it to be over, and I never wanted to let it go. It was like sunlight that burned my shoulders—painful and destructive, but offering such a distinct relief that I could never wish it away. It stretched time, thinned patience, broke concentration. Perhaps this was what people called "hope."

The seconds that it took my father to search inside the scoop ran for what felt like years. Thoughts and desires I never allowed myself plowed through my head and I even felt a creek of sweat crawl down my temple. My body was tense, my mind racing. I longed for some sort of release, bad or good, it didn't matter—

<Jennor.> Father's voice broke the brittle silence and he stepped out into the sunlight. <I have something for you.>

The tension ravishing my body melted away, and I slouched in supreme relief, even though I had been instructed countless times not to. Before I could even realize what was happening, I felt my fragile hearts splinter, the chest pains of Andalite emotional catharsis, and I thought I would cry, even though that is a thing Andalites rarely accomplish.

He stepped closer to me, and held out the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was a utility belt—a gorgeous, worn, leather utility belt of the highest quality, each pocket plush with a soft fur that I could not identify, but my fingertips had never felt a lovelier substance. I ran them over everything, wanting each of my senses to absorb the belt fully, wanting to drink it in as furiously as someone lost in a desert for weeks. I leaned into that woody smell, and as I did, one of my fingertips grazed the top of my father's hand.

I felt him jerk back suddenly, and I returned to cold, angular reality I was used to. I stood back, and up straight, and waited for the customary: <Careful, Jennor. Don't be so eager when your hands are so cold. You don't want to get yourself hurt.>

<I apologize, Father,> I said for the second time that morning.

But then something even more unexpected happened. My father's expression melted into a smile, and he leaned in close to me. I would have been frightened if not for that smile, that strange smile that warped the long, jagged scar running under his left eye to his right mandible. It softened his hard skin in a way that no ointment ever could. He wrapped the belt around my tiny waist, and he clasped it closed. It hung heavily off of my infantile hips. But it felt warm, and as he pulled away I felt a great shiver run down my chest.

<Jennor, what you have there is meaningless. You need something to fill it with.> From behind his back he pulled out the one item from the war that he never let me touch, never even let me gaze upon—his Shredder.

I gasped as he brought it forward for me to hold. I wrapped my cold fingers around the rubber handle, knowing the risk both of misfire and accidentally grazing his hands. I checked the safety, and admired its various controls, buttons, dials and read-outs, pinching the small pouch of volatile fuel that emerged from its internal workings like an exposed eye. It was light and airy, and I tested the resistance of the trigger, pointing the gun into the ground—it was both perfectly difficult and easy to discharge. There were flaws in its design, and it showed the wear and tear my father had submitted to it over the years—chipped metal, revealing the dull fiberglass-composite underneath, dents and bruises that gave it the impression of an old fruit. But it was still perfect—each of those chips and dents and imperfections only made it lovelier and more perfect, now that it was a legacy, now that my father and I were inexorably linked by this flawed, vicious device.

I carefully placed the Shredder into the holster, and it fit nicely into its own groove. I paused for a moment, overcome with emotion, and did something unforgivable. Before I could stop myself, I flung my arms around his waist, risking a stern reprimand, risking him revoking the gift entirely. But to my utter astonishment, he did not recede; he did not peel away my eager arms. His arms settled around me. He cradled my small head with one oversized hand and stroked the fur on my upper ribs tenderly with the other. Never had I felt such happiness, and even though I was already predicting the regret that would follow, since I knew even then that another moment like this might never come, I was fully saturated with a feeling I could not name, a feeling I didn't want to tarnish with the crude labeling of language. It was perfection.

A few hours later, the Elder sun now high overhead, followed shortly by his younger brother, Father and I made our way to our community's training facility, named for the hero of Sector 32 WD-38402-8, who had sacrificed himself in a heroic attempt to destroy the main Yeerk pool facility on the planet. It was arguable that Frahola, who received a lovely obituary in the  _Warrior Chronicles_ , had much more success in death than he ever did in life.

The training facility itself was a truly remarkable feat, both of aesthetics and engineering. To keep its secrets hidden from view, it was constructed in one of the larger valleys of the incessant hills, covered by a massive deflector force field, shielded from the sometimes-treacherous rays of the suns and any rare gust of wind that would plague its students. It consisted of a few large scoops, all nestled together in a semi-circle, where I noticed a multitude of people mingling from my bird's-eye view atop the summit of the rise that shielded it. A large sand pit adorned its middle, the soft surface perfect for tail-to-tail training. About a half kilometer away, reinforced rubber targets, slightly bleached by their constant bombardment by Shredder beams, were all lined up like convicts awaiting the firing squad. A long track ran around the circumference of the place—a single white line with tic marks every half kilometer or so, noting distance for those training for endurance. And finally, a small pit, where all the grass had been removed, and water had been added, fenced off carefully by a humming laser, lay unceremoniously off to the side, where the most unfortunate of trainees would practice their hoofwork. Hoofwork training was universally the most disliked of all the disciplines, because falling down a couple of times in the mud pit was inevitable, and Andalites hate getting dirty.

<Are you ready?> My father asked. I suddenly realized that standing atop this hill, I was safe from any of the violent events below. I had a sudden, terrible feeling rise up my neck and into my face, like something dreadful was going to happen if I went down. But this was only fear. Average fear. Unworthy fear. It would not invade me. I had become immune. I suppressed it, and replied, <As always.>

My father led me down, and we walked up to one of the registration scoops. There were fathers with their women, registering sons who towered over me. Some stalk eyes seemed to wander my way, impressed that a female so young would be joining them in training. My father handed in the registration disk to a young man who looked rather bored. I sympathized, since I assumed this position was a requirement before fighting in the real war, and for most warriors, any time spent away from combat is wasted.

I felt the uncomfortable feeling crawl up my neck again. I couldn't immediately pinpoint why, but then a tall, good-looking man with excellent posture and poise emerged from the dark recesses of the scoop. His dark purple fur was smooth, almost metallic, sheening in the sunlight, his hooves were sharp and shiny. His face was long and angular, his arms thick with ropy muscles, his chest broad and puffed, his stalk eyes wafting confidently above his head.

Overall, he looked incredibly healthy, yet somehow disfigured. There was something twisted within him, something angry and hurt, something that had been damaged for a very long time and still festered with infection. You couldn't see it with your naked eye; he hid it too well. That's what made it so glaringly obvious to me. He was so confident, and so smug, and so tall and handsome that it made him look perverted and deformed.

He didn't look too old. Maybe four or five cycles, so just about old enough to start a family of his own, yet he managed to retain his youthful confidence while exuding a wizened entitlement. He stepped slowly, methodically, as if every step he took had some deeper, unfathomable meaning. His stalk eyes swiveled around slowly—he was cautious, but in the most confident way possible. I felt arrogance and pride ooze from him as severely as my father's anticipation had that morning. His eyes were dark, almost black, but I squinted my own to see that they were very darkly blue, like a midnight with no stars. He smiled strangely upon seeing me.

<Ah, Sofor-Elacable-Haladran, how wonderful it is to see you again, no?> he said in a voice so thick with sarcasm and insincerity that I wondered what made him think it sounded acceptable at all.

<Tuxebi,> Father replied curtly. I looked up at him to see his eyes narrowed dangerously. His eyes were the only indicator of his emotional state. I couldn't feel anything coming from him at all.

<And this must be...> he said, moving all four of his eyes on me. It was an unnatural, obscene gesture, and it weighed me down in shame. I looked away. <Jennor-Elacable-Barees. Ah yes. Rather brave giving her your middle name, no?> I felt another wave of arrogance, slimy like oil, wash over me, and I took a small step backwards.

<Are we registered?> Father asked impatiently. <Who is she training with?>

<Well let's see,> Tuxebi replied in a sing-song voice that made me squirm. <It seems she is...ah, wait...yes, she is in my group this term.>

<No,> my father growled, and deep, unexpected rage burned within him before he covered it up again. <No. I will not allow that. Change it now.>

<Ah, Sofor, always panicking. So nervous all of the time. You must learn to calm down. Besides, I'm not sure you're in any position to be giving orders, considering you have not yet paid for this term in full, no?>

<I have not yet exceeded the due dates for the credits, and I—>

<Besides,> Tuxebi interrupted, his voice soft, yet powerful enough to stop my father, <what professional reason could you possibly have to request that your daughter be trained with someone else? Professionally, I have transgressed you in no way, and have committed no actions that could possibly warrant such a demand.>

My father knew he was defeated, but he did something unexpected, and smiled. <Very well, Tuxebi.  _Professionally_ , I expect you to treat my daughter with every respect and courtesy that you would offer any cadet, and if I see or hear one thing that leads me even to fancy otherwise, I will skip the ordinary diplomatic channels and come straight for you. No?>

Tuxebi smiled back, and nodded courteously. <Perhaps someday we shall forget our feud, old friend.>

Father's smile faded, and he grabbed me under the arm and pulled me away.

<Listen to me very carefully, Jennor, and listen well. No doubt you sensed some tension between me and that man?>

His grip was tight, and he was walking faster than I could, but I responded, <Yes, Father, but I—>

<Sir, Jennor. Sir.>

<Yes, sir, I did, but I don't understand what it was—>

<You don't need to understand, Jennor.> We stopped about 50 meters away from the registration scoop, and my father turned to face me. <If he does anything out of the ordinary, anything that is different from what he does to the other cadets, I want you to tell me. I don't care what he says to you, Jennor. He may order you to keep it a secret, he may threaten to hurt you. You need to know, right now, that he cannot harm you. Do you understand?>

I found his ultimatum incoherent and frightful. But I looked up to him and tried to smile. <Yes, sir. I understand.>

<Good,> my father responded. <Now, go make me proud, my little  _aristh_.>

Father released me from his steel grip and turned to leave. He kept his right stalk eye on me for about twenty paces, and I watched it slowly descend from view. I had never been away from him before, and I felt emptiness replace any self-respect or confidence I had somehow managed to gain under his protection. I took a deep breath, and tried to convince myself again that I was an excellent fighter, and more than deserving to train with these older boys, whose glances of curiosity had changed into derisive jeers since Father had left. They had seen my size and my youth but they hadn't yet noticed my weapon.

They would not be jeering if they had.

After a few minutes of idle waiting, the man my father called "Tuxebi" called off about six names. My name was last, and he uttered it with a sort of strange fascination, linking his left stalk eye to me and holding the gaze. We followed him out onto the training field, about thirty meters away from the sand pit, where a group of older trainees were practicing rudimentary defensive techniques Father had taught to me months ago.

The constant attention from Tuxebi, in addition to the revelation that my skills were already far ahead of where I would be starting, eased the tension that had built in my chest, and I felt a lot taller and stronger.

<Line up,> Tuxebi suddenly said in a voice I had never heard before, a voice so hard and cold and colorless that it took me a moment to comprehend. The other boys seemed shocked by it as well, but after a short moment of confusion, we obeyed the order.

<Welcome to Frahola's training facility,> he said, using the inorganic voice again. <You will call me "Trainer." For two years, you will be completely bound to my authority, and if you obey every command and piece of advice I choose to grant you, you will improve. Whether or not you become warriors is entirely up to you. We will rank you, by talent, by effectiveness, by potential usefulness. If you are extremely lucky, we will recommend you for admittance into Officer's Training. At the equatorial facility.>

A murmur of thought-speech. Excitement, fear, the troublesome annoyance of hope that was not my own, the kind that spawned dangerous competitiveness.

<Of course, that is a favor we grant very few of our cadets. You are all lousy genetic scum, the leftovers of our grand race. I tell you this not to insult you. It is a truth you'd be best to accept as early as possible. Everything is working against you. Even more for one of you.>

I felt the crawling sensation in my neck again. His eye crept over my body, and my face was hot from embarrassment. After a few moments of discomfort, his gaze reached its final destination—the tip of my tail, from which erupted a long, curved, hard, iridescent scythe, shining brightly in the suns. His eye widened slightly, and I knew why. It was the one consistent compliment my father gave me. The one thing that set me apart.

It was not ordinary.

Andalite females are physically unsuited for war. There is no guilt about this segregation on a normally gender-blind world. Though they are quick and agile, they are small and weak, with tail blades resembling stubby little scalpels: tail blades that could pick and stab, but not slice. Not decapitate. Not impale. It didn't matter, of course, now that wars were distance affairs, fought with technology rather than biology, and a small faction of females who desired to fight existed. But I was apart from them. I was female, granted the gifts of my brothers while retaining the advantages of my sisters. I was female, just as dangerous and deadly as a male. I was not ordinary.

It had been a burden for a lot longer than it had been an asset. For the first year and a half of my life, it was too heavy to carry upright, too long and awkward to act as an effective defense. Long before I was a year old, however, my Father taught me twitching exercises designed to strengthen my weak muscles. They were uncomfortable at first, but after enough time, they became a part of my routine. After a month, it felt strange not doing them. And after a little longer, I began to see results. The muscles that outlined my back and haunches were irregularly large, but I could hold my tail blade up as easily as anyone now. And I was just as graceful with it as any other  _aristh_.

The discovery of this fortunate deformity put a pause into Trainer's introductory speech, and I sensed that the other five trainees had felt the pause and were searching for its source. Their eyes, which had previously been sheathed in a kind of superior entitlement due to their size and age, widened suddenly as they met what Trainer had discovered. I expected them to be afraid and impressed. But instead, I felt sudden shivers of disgust and revulsion. I was not ordinary. It had not occurred to me before that moment that it might be a bad thing.

<Jennor,> Trainer said suddenly, and I snapped out of my sudden self-doubt, stepped forward, and responded, <Yes, sir?>

<I wondered what foolishness had caused your father to enroll you so early. You're an infant next to these boys.>

I felt a pang of shame, but I didn't know why. I should have defended his honor. I was too afraid.

I didn't know how to respond, so I said nothing, and looked at the boys again. They started smiling and snickering, expecting something to happen that would return them to their undue entitlement.

<Tell me what you know, Jennor,> He said, his voice returned to the softer, less militant version I was used to, though he was still addressing everyone. <What do you think you have learned to justify your presence here?>

I inhaled deeply, organizing my thoughts through my swampy insecurity. <My father has been training me in our scoop for almost two years,> I responded slowly, letting my words sweep over the group, still convinced I could show them I was worthy. <He has experience both as a warrior and a trainer, and has taught me primary, secondary, and some tertiary tail-fighting techniques. He has instructed me in the use of a Shredder-weapon, though I have not yet had the opportunity to handle one. He has also given me some lessons in reconnaissance methods and strategy.>

I was met with scowls from my classmates and another curious smile from Trainer. <Reconnaissance methods, is that what he told you they were?> His voice was now directed solely at me, and once again, I got a strange, crawling feeling in my neck. <No doubt you will be very skilled at that, thanks solely to your mother.>

Suddenly my face exploded in heat, and I turned to stare up at him in shock. I had no mother!

Taking my sudden distraction as his cue, Trainer planted his hind leg firmly in the ground and lifted his tail high above his shoulders, preparing to strike. Though he executed his attack perfectly, I sensed where he was aiming and moved my tail there to intercept. Our tail blades met with a satisfying crash that shook me to my hooves, my tail barely able to absorb the percussive shock. My adrenal glands now in full production, I readied myself for battle, but the split-second of distraction still gave him the advantage. Using the momentum from our collision to reposition himself, he flung his tail blade in a small circle, ducking it silently under my tail. I reached down to try to stop it, but he was too fast.

I felt a sudden splash of pain run across my torso, and then, for a moment, nothing. Nothing but the pale, cold shock of injury. Then the blood came. It came, and it ran down my legs onto the ground in long, stringy rivulets, filling expanding puddles. I was not breathing, and I could not start again. Dread filled me, replacing the lost volume of blood.

<Tertiary tail-fighting techniques,> Trainer repeated, returning to the cold voice again, addressing us all. <You can learn all that you want, little  _aristh_ , but unless you are prepared at all times, it is as meaningless as your superfluously large blade.>

His stalk eye's gaze finally dropped me, and he turned to lead the rest of the trainees away.


	3. Chapter Two: The Empress

Chapter Two

The Empress

I reviewed my work. A mutilated, heaving sack of sweat and muscle writhed before me. I sighed in regret. My vision had not been realized. This was supposed to take much longer. My project was not as strong as I had predicted. He was almost done. But I was just getting started.

"Do you still believe your incessant lies are convincing?" I asked. "I grow impatient. I would be perfectly content leaving this room, eating some preserved arboreal cellulose, and spending the rest of my day recuperating from this arduous chore. Don't you want that, too?"

Pale green blood leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes. He was sobbing. He was more than hurt.

"Sub-Visser, what do you think?" I turned to my personal assistant, Sub-Visser Twenty-Four, known during his off-hours as Nagrit 767. He grinned playfully.

"I think it's a shame that such vital information is so difficult to exhume."

"Exhume," I said with a smile and a breathy laugh. "What an apt word."

I balled my Hork-Bajir hand into a fist and flung it into my project's face. His skin, swollen with blood, had lost its elasticity and molded to the shape of my hand. He moaned and sputtered, and his head rolled back in surrender. A flat tooth rolled out of his mouth and rattled on the floor.

"I just..." he began.

It's an amateur mistake to lean in and listen when torture subjects begin to speak. The power dynamic is fragile, easy to surrender. You have to remain in charge. I walked calmly over to the sink and washed his blood and spongy skin off of my hands. I could feel his eyes bore into the back of my skull, desperate for mercy, a gift I was unwilling to grant.

"Sub-Visser, did you hear something? A truthful confession, perhaps?" I dried my hands with a towel and threw it in a pile of them that was stained with green blood and yellow sweat.

"Nothing like that. Just a wisp of a coward's begging, I think."

"Yes, I agree." I grabbed a long, metal instrument, ending in two prongs and a screw connected to a hand crank. I turned around to face my project again.

"Wait, please! I'll tell you, I've had enough."

I stood there cranking the screw with a wild menace in my eyes, approaching slowly. My subject watched me, blood dripping from his beak like a melting icicle.

"You do not need my permission to confess, scum," I hissed as I raised my weapon and held it inches from his eye.

"It was Esplin. Esplin told me to take the fall for him. I couldn't refuse, he was my superior! After that debacle on the Taxxon moon, I couldn't just...I'm sorry. Please don't kill me. Please let me go. Please."

"Esplin," I groaned. My project had corroborated what I already knew. That's really the only practical interrogative method of torture. You've got to have information already in mind that you want double-checked. People will tell you anything to ease the pain, and in the throes of extreme suffering, truth and lie become indistinguishable. It can get uncomfortable, both for you and them, when they start telling you what they think you want to hear. Sometimes it is not what you'd expect.

Interrogation, of course, is not the only practical application of torture.

I dropped the instrument. Nagrit opened the door and we both shuffled out, leaving my project tied, swollen, and whimpering.

I closed the door and turned to him.

"That fool continues to cover his tracks, and only with enough skill to appease the Council." I huffed, shoving my sticky hands together and cracking my knuckles. "I do not believe this information will be enough to denounce him."

Nagrit sighed. He was in no place to voice his opinions. Not on record, anyway. But he understood my frustration. And with a subtle narrowing of his eyes, he showed that he agreed.

Nagrit had been my assistant for almost ten years. I'd been given the privilege to choose an assistant when I'd been promoted to the rank of Visser Sixteen. I chose quickly, some speculated carelessly, but his file impressed me immediately. He was a low Sub-Visser, and though I was confused as to why he did not head a command of his own, a quick glance at his record revealed that he assisted a number of Vissers before me, each of whom had dishonorably reassigned him. I did not immediately understand why. He was an intelligent, creative leader with good work ethic, a powerful charm, and a strong set of values, and he'd made no irredeemable mistakes that I could see.

After a few months, the reason became clear. He did not bear a normal Yeerk personality. Yeerk leaders are defined by their viciousness, the cold, glassy ruthlessness and apathy behind their determined eyes. Nagrit did not have that. He never broke orders, and at the beginning, never contradicted me, no matter how cold or wrong I was when I spoke. But he moved with a sort of warmth and organic passion, a foreign empathy and mercy. It gave me a heavy sense of guilt and unworthiness. It could get cumbersome. I could understand how a Visser would want not to be around that.

But Nagrit and I quickly developed an efficient rapport, and despite his strange mannerisms, including the eyebrows that furrowed when I ordered him to fire upon an Andalite vessel, or the involuntary twitch of dread when I told him that we'd procured a new prisoner to break, I considered him a trusted advisor. His abnormality was only outmatched by his loyalty and intelligence, and once our trust had been established, I encouraged him to contradict me when he needed to, and to offer alternative solutions even after I'd made up my mind. In some ways, he had become my conscience. Though most Yeerks consider this a taxing commodity, it was one I knew I could neither lead nor live without.

He was a good assistant, adjutant, and advisor, but those were not the only functions he served. I could joke with some of the Vissers. And I considered the Council my equals. But perhaps, in my distant and revered position, Nagrit was closest thing I had to a friend.

"Visser Eleven has done the impossible, sir. Never forget that fact."

Nagrit was right, but I was not pleased. More than once, Esplin had disappointed in his promises to deliver intelligence and results. But it was difficult to deny the impact his presence had: a symbolic representation of our mounting victories over the Andalites in the form of one of their most infamous War-Princes imprisoned in his own body.

I hated him.

He was a cheater. Promoted through Yeerk hierarchy not due to his leadership skills or strategic genius. He was a novelty. A farce. He was not an effective general, not a shrewd strategist. He wasted all of his energy on that selfish vision, and what good had it ultimately done the Empire?

"Besides stroking our own egos, how can one infested Andalite make a difference?" I scoffed rhetorically to Nagrit. He shrugged indifferently. Though Nagrit voiced his disagreement on a few issues, he never disagreed with me about this.

Not about Esplin.

"What course are you going to seek?" He asked.

"I will speak with the rest of the Council. Unfortunately, they do not share our distaste."

He made an apologetic, comforting face. "I'll be here when you're finished."

"Thank you, Sub-Visser."

I walked down the hall, past an echoey dropshaft, and entered the conference room, where the rest of the Council was already waiting for me. We rarely met on the same ship all at once, but a great deal of our forces had concentrated on this sector of the galaxy, and I thought it prudent to check up in person despite the inherent danger involved.

We were relaxed, or at least, as relaxed as the deified, mythic leaders of the Yeerk Empire could be. We did not wear our ceremonial robes, or hover in our neutral-gravity bubbles so as to appear intimidating and supernaturally powerful. We gathered in forms that were normal, if perhaps a little more physically fit than most, but even so, I felt a tingle of fear. Addressing the council was always stressful. I always felt like I was defending myself, even when delivering good news.

The Council consisted of four fat Taxxons, seated behind the steaming flesh of some unidentifiable corpse, insufficiently covered by their keratin plating, spewing forth a gust of rancid smell that disgusted my subtle Hork-Bajir nose; five fellow Hork-Bajir, who slouched backwards, bored, using their thick tails as a chair-like support; one elderly Gedd, whose eyes were crusted with cataracts; and two other species I could not identify. One was shorter than the rest, with thin, unadorned, pale skin, and two small, bright eyes. It walked on two legs and seemed both totally vulnerable and worthy among the beasts that surrounded it.

"I have concluded my interrogation of prisoner 2351," I began addressing them. One of the Taxxon's tongues leapt forward in curiosity and hunger. Another Taxxon's red, jelly eyes turned to it lustily.

"What information have you procured?" a Hork-Bajir named Krister 632 asked, bouncing on his tail.

"Our initial suspicions seem to have been correct. The mag-lev incident and subsequent uprising on the Taxxon Homeworld were indeed caused by one Esplin 9466, whom the Council has decided to promote to the rank of Visser Eleven."

I did not regret the observation when I spoke it, nor the acerbic tone with which I delivered it, but it made the small alien's mouth curl triumphantly nonetheless.

"Visser Eleven has already provided us ample information, not only about Andalites, but about this species as well," the being said, gesturing to his own form. I recognized the tone. It was Sessil 542, the overseer of new species acquisitions. Playing with his new discovery. "Do you know about this species, Councilor Eight?"

None of the Councilors were actually given numbers to designate them, except for me. Within the Council, that meant I was in charge. Outside the Council, it was meant to conceal my true identity. It was a system I appreciated for the amount of anonymity it provided me. I was glad not to accept the risk involved with being the face of the Empire. Unfortunately, it meant that the Council was often perceived as a more democratic body than originally intended.

Visser Eleven would already be dead if it weren't for the twelve other Councilors. Or at least seven of them. Five I could convince, I know that. But seven still beats six.

"I have read the dossier you provided," I conceded. "These humans do sound promising."

"Then give Visser Eleven his due. If not for him, we would never have even heard of this species," Vrasst 261, a Taxxon, hissed through large, dripping bites of rotting flesh.

"I doubt that," I muttered. "But very well. Visser Eleven shall remain. But I want him reprimanded for his responsibility in—"

"I disagree," About five of the councilors interrupted.

I sighed in frustration. "Fine. I shall terminate prisoner 2351. He is no longer a suitable host."

I turned to leave the conference room, but Sessil stopped me. "Councilor Eight," he said. "There is one other matter which requires your immediate attention."

"I realize we meet in person infrequently, but perhaps this can wait until our next conference? After all, I am overseeing the infiltration of the Taxxon insurgency, and I would greatly appreciate—"

"That task has been reassigned," he said, waving his hand. "We have received information about a new threat which requires your special brand of expertise."

"What information? From where?" I knew this question had no answer, as the Council periodically received information from an anonymous source, somewhere outside the galaxy, which proved always to be correct and beneficial. I had never been explicitly addressed in these messages. I felt my throat clench shut as I realized my time had finally come.

"The file has been downloaded to your Blade Ship's computer. View it at your leisure. You are charged with the task therein. It should be no problem given your talent for breaking down the structure of an individual, leaving them a bloody, mangled mess."

The Council chuckled at my expense. I allowed them. After all, the reason for their amusement was that I was not a conventional Empress. At the beginning of the war, the Emperor was the head military leader, a general of sorts that rallied all Yeerks and retained a great deal of executive power. Before the war, however, whatever military decisions necessary were left in the hands of the tribe leaders, the group of mediocre power that evolved into the Vissers. I decided to resurrect this lost tradition. I did not like the role of General, and though at first I was looked down upon for relinquishing the responsibilities, it had proven to be effective. One Visser in charge of the acquisition of each race. One Yeerk in charge of the Vissers. But, in most cases, I did not micromanage.

Besides management, delegation, and all the other annoying requirements of my position, I chose to focus my abilities on individual threats. Until now, that had been the interrogation of my own people, rooting out spies, insurgencies, and mutinies. This happened among Yeerks more than any of us would like to admit. Discontentment broiled among many of my people, and though I longed for a more peaceful way to remedy it, I was good at purging it through the threat of pain and death. It felt insincere, since I myself was dissatisfied with many aspects of the war, especially forced enslavement. But I realized I could never speak out against it until I offered some compelling solution or alternative. I wished more races would cooperate with us. I wished I didn't have to feel so guilty every time I heard my host moan a wail of grief in my head, or feel a thrash of resistance after a feeding. But there really weren't any other options.

But I was good at interrogations. Very good. I was very good at torture. I learned long ago that physical pain is only one form of punishment, and once the Council granted me full immunity from any conventions or treaties, I started seeing results every time.

And now it appeared I had an assignment that aligned my talents. I felt a thrill of anticipation as I left the overwhelming Pool Station, containing eight Pool Ships on each of its insect-leg docking ports, and boarded my own Blade Ship, preparing to read the file.

Nagrit walked ahead of me, and Yeerks we passed in the hall saluted stiffly. I was used to it. They respected me. That was fine. The thing I didn't want, the thing that provided no purpose, was fear. Pain and death are good punishments, but they are terrible motivators. This was something Visser Eleven did not understand.

"Sometimes I don't understand why we spend so much time trying to get him demoted," Nagrit said suddenly, breaking me from my train of thought. "He has served his people well. We may not like the way he does things, but he does them, and they get done."

I rolled my eyes at Nagrit's circular logic, but then I thought for a moment. "I suppose you're right," I replied. "He has never failed on a large scale. All of us have our disappointments. I just get a strange feeling when I think he will soon have a planet of his own. Foreboding. Disastrous. I can't explain it."

"If you say so, sir," Nagrit responded.

We entered the Bridge, and Nagrit ordered it evacuated. I wanted to view the file in private. Nagrit stood at the navigational computers, powering up the controls so we could get going as soon as we knew where we were headed.

As I sat waiting for the file to download, I felt a warm wave of accomplishment wash over me. I had not felt so content in my entire career—not during those first tests I had mastered in my birth pool to weed out executive talent, not upon entering my first Gedd host, not enjoying my first command position. I remembered the day I got promoted to Sub-Visser: even then, I felt more fear than accomplishment. But I kept climbing the ranks, through my fair, tough, rational leadership style that the entire Empire had become accustomed to. Less inefficiencies, more victories became our motto, and through me we had won the battle on Hork-Bajir and were currently picking off every Taxxon rebel left on their planet. I kept climbing, kept winning, making my name and accomplishments known.

I was first invited to the Council seven years ago. The rest of the Councilors had all been on the Council for decades, some even centuries. I was still young. New, fresh meat. They liked me. I kept them in order, and allowed the body overall, instead of just their leader, to be the figurehead of the Empire. We disagreed about Visser Eleven, but we kept civility among ourselves. I received compliments in private. Encouragements to continue along the path of leadership I had struck. I received very few insults or criticisms, though I was paranoid enough to believe that most of the praise was insincere. To my surprise, however, it was not long before I was chosen to be Empress.

Of course, even that decision was something of a mystery. It had appeared that even when I was invited to the Council, there was no Emperor or Empress. It was as if I had been predestined to become the Empress, that the position had been vacated just so I could fill it. I was confused by this process, and fear crept into the back of my mind.

But now, with an assignment meant just for me, I could feel proud. I no longer simply filled a seat at the head of the table. I sat there because of my skill, my inbred talent. And here, I could prove myself in ways that my particular style of management could never solely account for. I could be the greatest interrogator and torturer in the Yeerk Empire.

The file had almost finished, but I was distracted. I worried about this new race, these humans, only because I felt that somehow, they would outsmart us. Their file scared me. Billions of specimens all on one planet? Most viewed it as a cosmic gift, some force of charity bestowing us with such an able-bodied, ignorant, numerous race. But it made me uneasy. They didn't procreate to such a degree from sheer luck alone.

I heard a whining alarm sound. The file finished downloading. It read in a strange, garbled alien language that the computer took a couple of moments to translate. My eyes rolled back and forth over the data, absorbing the target that would become my job. My obsession. My life's work.

It was an Andalite. An Andalite who lived on the homeworld. Already I felt my stomach sink in failure. How could I procure a single Andalite off the best-guarded planet in the galaxy?

As the text translated, a picture depixelized and appeared on the screen. The picture was taken from an Andalite personnel file, and featured a child. An Andalite child. A girl. A girl that could barely be old enough to walk, let alone present a real threat to the Empire.

I laughed a little. "A little girl?" I asked Nagrit.

"Perhaps one Andalite can make a difference," he suggested.

I glared at him, and read the file further. Her father was a veteran. She had no mother that the file indicated. From one of the most destitute parts of their planet, she was not privileged in any way that I could immediately identify. I was confused. How could this little girl be worth all the trouble?

But I breathed in deep, and already felt my forebrain churn, formulating a plan. "Set course for the Hork-Bajir Homeworld," I said. "Do you think we'll have any luck salvaging an old Andalite fighter?"

"Honestly, no. But I suppose that's as good a place as any to start," Nagrit replied.

I stared at the little girl on my screen. I suddenly felt a surge of purpose and strength in me. I was going to find her, this little girl, this bitch and threat to my Empire. I was going to find and kill Jennor-Elacable-Barees.


	4. Chapter Three: Jennor

Chapter Three

Jennor-Elacable-Barees

A black-blue puddle of thick blood pooled on the ground, and my shaky knees threatened to stop supporting my mounting weight. Terrible, illogical imaginings ran through my mind in torrents, throbbing deeply like my increasing pulse. I imagined that my gut was like the fuel tank of a small Andalite fighter, and my blood would combust if provoked by anything too hot or aggressive. I pictured myself as a vast star, draining into a black hole, a funnel of radioactive fire forming at the event horizon. I felt as though a great blackness was absorbing me, invading my veins with each palpitation of lost blood, swallowing me like an extinct native beast with a prehensile, serpentine tongue.

I fell to my knees, which purged the images from my mind. I clutched my stomach, futilely trying to keep my blood in my body. I pulled one hand away to survey the damage, but as I did another thump of my primary heart sent a great flood of fluid from the wound. My hand was covered in slime that crawled down my wrist in droplets and detached coldly from my elbow.

I didn't know what to do. Panic surged into my mind. I was terrified, overcome with an urge to run away from all of this, if I could only rise to my hooves. How shameful it would be if I died here, on my first day of training, if I could not even complete one period of what  _The Warrior Chronicles_  had criticized as one of the simplest and most ill-equipped facilities on the planet. Exile was much better than shame. Defeat floated upon me like an upturned sheet, and I searched desperately for someone to blame. My father, for teaching me so poorly. Trainer, for treating me with such unwarranted disdain. But I finally reached the terrible conclusion that the only person I could blame was myself. Myself, for being too easy to distract, too unprepared and affected to have predicted and effectively blocked the fatal blow.

<Um, excuse me? Small child?> A voice cracked through the air. I whipped around a stalk eye up to see one of the boys in my training group standing above me.

<The trainer requested for me to come over and...assist you.> The uncertainty in his voice elated and infuriated me. He spoke without action, and as I felt hope return to me, I wondered if he was going to do anything, or just stand there and watch me bleed to death.

<Can you help me up?> I asked him feebly, growing more annoyed as the seconds passed and he only continued to stand there indecisively.

<Yes, certainly, I can do that.> He slipped his hand gently under my armpit, and carefully pulled me to my hooves. I tried to stand on my own, but found it impossible, and hastily grabbed his bicep for support.

He flinched slightly, and I realized I'd left a bloody hand print on his arm. <Sorry,> I hissed softly, but did not release my grip. <Which way is the medical scoop?>

He did not answer, and I looked up at his face. He was staring curiously down at me. He did not respond for a few seconds, and though I was justifiably distracted, I noticed that his thoughts had suddenly become much, much quieter.

<Um...I think it's...that way,> he said finally, turning his main eyes toward the semi-circle of administrative scoops a few hundred yards away.

My vision had grown fuzzy, and I could not see the scoops to which he referred. I tried taking a step in the direction that he indicated, but a surge of dizziness overtook me, and I stumbled to my knees again.

<Careful,> the boy said with a tinge of determination. His hand gripped my armpit painfully, and he pulled me back to my hooves.

<Hold onto my arm,> he instructed, now wrapping his other hand around my opposite side. <Don't let go.>

He stepped slowly toward the scoops, dragging my increasingly uncooperative form along with him. <Not like this,> he kept muttering to himself, so quietly that I was pretty sure he didn't intend for me to hear. <Not so soon. Not like this.>

As we traveled, time seemed to slow down, and we arrived at our destination what felt like days later. He set me down carefully on the grass in front of the medical scoop, and blood continued to flow from the wound, in surges less powerful than before. Every breath I drew was like a hot blade below my lungs. I was off my hooves, but I had managed to keep my upper body upright. As the seconds drew on, I feared I would topple over like a spent tree.

<She is wounded.> Harsh words snapped me back to reality. <May I please have a dermal regenerator?>

<Jennor-Elacable-Barees,> A droll, and surprisingly female voice responded.

A woman, outlined in shadow, stood within the scoop. It appeared she was taking inventory of the various medical equipment within. I could not see very well from my position on the ground, but the boy was surprised, and so was I.

<I guess that is today, isn't it?> She said with a sigh.

<What…> I said, surprised that she knew who I was.

<Already bloodshed. Already a casualty of this ridiculous war. Already forced to grow up much sooner than anyone should have to. I should have fought harder for you.> She put down some medical instrument and smiled mirthlessly. <Oh well. You're on the path, whether I like it or not. This is Tuxebi's handiwork, isn't it?>

<Yes,> the boy responded. <How did you—>

<Just morph it away. They don't want us wasting the energy cells on these.> She gestured to the dermal regenerator, holding it tantalizingly close to the boy's grasp without handing it to him.

He turned a stalk eye in my direction and said, <You can morph, can't you?>

I shook my stalk eye in the customary negative response.

<She can't morph,> he relayed.

<Well, that we can remedy,> she said, handing him the geometric Escafil Device. The boy crouched down and held it to me.

I had heard much about the process of morphing. Most Andalites were fascinated by it, but the whole thing disgusted me. It felt insincere and unnatural. I was born as one thing for a reason. Changing that, forfeiting it, felt wrong. Cowardly. Unproud.

But at that moment, I had little choice.

I lifted my heavy arm and pressed my hand lightly on the surface of the cube. It glowed, and a sudden spark of pleasure momentarily overwhelmed the pain and terror. I was now outfitted forever with the ability to prevent this type of injury from ever harming me again.

But as I felt hope suppress my fear, I wondered what at cost that would come.

The boy pulled the cube away, and for a second he stared down at me, expecting me to morph, expecting the problem to be solved. Then his eyes narrowed, and he realized one final step was required.

I needed to acquire something.

His narrowed eyes turned into a glare, and he turned a stalk eye back to the woman in the scoop, who stared back.

I think she sensed his hesitation, because she said, <This girl has been entrusted to your care. Finish the job.>

I heard him sigh, and he reluctantly extended his hand for me to touch.

I reached out to him with my two longest fingers, and as I grazed the surface of his skin, I felt him flinch. I was beginning to understand that this was a customary reaction to my touch. I acquired him, and my fingers suddenly had the impression of heaviness, partnered with a tingling sensation that was sort of pleasant. The boy's eyes rolled up into his head. The process was complete. I had absorbed his DNA, now and forever.

I pulled away and stared at my fingers. They seemed much more significant than the feeble appendages they had been not seconds ago. They now had the ability to replicate identity. I could become a new person if I desired. Yes, I was born as Jennor, but if I changed, I no longer felt like I would lose that. I understood the allure of morphing, the reason it was so beloved among my people. I was no longer bound to one form. I could float freely among species, people, genders, races, and creeds. I felt invincible.

But the nagging feeling of forfeit did not subside. As strong as I felt now, I wondered what would happen to me when the transformation was complete.

<So,> The boy said, interrupting my musings, a hint of impatience now in his voice. <Do it already.>

I obeyed his command, and with my eyes open, staring at the boy so I wouldn't have to picture him, I took the plunge.

The changes that occurred were much subtler than another morph, such as a Kafit bird, would have been. My legs extended beneath me, and thickened with the meaty flesh of the adolescent male. Soon they were strong enough to support my body, and I rose to my hooves.

Next, my shoulders broadened, and my rib cage blossomed. I took a deep breath, and my expanding lungs were left unsatisfied. My arms grew, coated in long sinew. My tail lengthened and turned the dull, yellow color that identifies males. My stalk eyes grew, and my vision improved as new blood filled my veins. Energy returned to me. I wasn't dying anymore.

I looked down and saw the wound, only seconds ago purging its last quantities of blood, seal itself from right to left, as if an invisible zipper had closed it. The remnants of my old blood still coated my skin, but the danger had passed. I was fine.

The growth stopped, and I assumed I had finished the morph, but one final change swept upon me like a warm breeze. It was like someone had placed a syringe in my ear canal and injected a wonderful shot of confidence. It flowed down my neck, into my hearts, and throughout my body, straightening my spine, flexing my muscles, twitching my tail. All sense of doubt and self-blame I had concluded for myself melted away.

Thoughts also began to flow through my mind differently than before. In my normal form, I had been a rock in the ocean upon which waves of ideas, images, and feelings had pounded upon, but now I was now a slide projector. Each thought I had came in quick succession—when I was finished with one, another would come, and I would spend enough time on it to comprehend, then move on to the next. It was a slightly jarring change, as I had based my style of decision-making and conversation on the former system all of my life. It took me a couple of moments to realize I was being addressed.

<Okay, you're healed!> The boy said with a note of urgency in his voice. I sensed this was not the first time he had tried to say communicate with me from the texture of his voice, but, strangely enough, I could not feel his discomfort. I expected the cold splash of rage and impatience, but it never came. He was completely disconnected from me. Unique. Silent. I felt curiously alone in his form.

<Yes, I am healed,> I said back to him, in my own voice. <I shall demorph now.>

But I held on to the form. There was something very normal about standing here, a regular cadet, broad, strong, aged late in my second interval. I was inconspicuous and conventional. I did not stand out. Eyes did not hover over me filled with curiosity and concern, and I was not forced to delve into the thoughts that propagated behind them. I felt very safe. I could succeed or fail without the obligation and responsibility of proving that despite my age or gender, I was capable.

<Now?> The boy asked, angry now instead of just urgent.

<Sorry,> I muttered, and returned to my original body, relinquishing the broad build, unearned confidence, and warm hands of the boy.

Returning to my old form was just as interesting as changing into the boy. Despite my shrinking stature, and the diminishing optimistic feeling, it felt like I was returning home. I noticed things about myself that I had previously not been aware of. My proportions now were clearer to me. As all of the extra matter slipped away, I realized that I had a long neck, and short, thin fingers in comparison to the boy. My feminine features now also felt more apparent—my waist was cinched, my hooves were delicate, and my flanks were narrow and much, much shorter. My jaw was longer by comparison, and I was sure my main eyes were bigger. And before long, I felt my old mind return. Once again thoughts came to me in the customary way, and I could feel outward again. The boy became a subdued part of my identity. I looked at and within him, and saw that he was both relieved and, for some reason, slightly ashamed.

I checked my torso, and saw that my skin there was as it had been before the incident—unscathed.

<I thought morphing injuries away caused scars,> I wondered aloud, fingering the smooth, undisturbed flesh.

<It takes a lot of concentration to get a scar,> the nurse said with a scoff. Despite eavesdropping, she was busy with other tasks. <You've got to be almost completed focused on the injury you're healing to cause a scar. Usually only very significant psychological wounds cause scars. The kinds that not only hurt physically, but deep within your hearts. Scary as it was, I'm sure, yours was pretty superficial.>

I flexed my fingers and the boy suggested we return to our group. We quickly thanked the physician, who nodded politely back, seemingly unmoved that she had just assisted in saving a life. I guess it's something that becomes mundane once you do it enough.

An unspoken apprehension about returning to the man who tried to kill one of us and forced the other to save her caused us to move slowly, exchanging idle conversation as we crept.

<I never caught your name,> I spoke softly

<Cristex,> he responded curtly. It was clear that the only place he wanted to be less than back with the trainer was walking there with me. I felt a prickle of guilt and turned my head downward, looking at the ground.

There were a few moments of buzzing silence before I decided to embark on conversation again. <Did you find the way Trainer was speaking earlier...strange? I couldn't quite figure out what he was doing, he was—>

<Yes.> He paused for a moment, unwilling, it seemed, to extrapolate. <He using Form Alpha thought-speech.>

<Form Alpha?> I asked. I shook my stalk eyes in confusion, not only unaware that there was more than one way to thought-speak, but that I'd been using a secondary type. <How can it be first if I've never heard it before?>

<It's considered a higher form of communication,> he explained. I sensed now that he was a little bit more comfortable. Our interaction had eased his cold, obligatory disgust. <The goal is for language to be the main avenue for comprehension. He was speaking "words.">

<So what are we speaking?> I asked.

<Form Beta communication. It's casual and unregulated. And also less precise.>

<But I couldn't understand him very well,> I protested.

<It becomes easier, the more you hear it.> He said. He breathed deeply and straightened, clearly glad that he was able to share this special expertise with someone. <It's a perfectly formed language, really. Eons of linguistic engineering have created a dialect so logical that it is nearly instinctual. It removes the possibility for ambiguity. And in situations like battles, both on ground and in space, any time wasted on ambiguity can be paid for with lives.>

<Ambiguity?> I muttered, more to myself than anything. <I never have that problem.>

<No,> Cristex agreed. He turned a hazel stalk eye down to me, and despite arrogance and self-consciousness, there was a hint of kindness and caring in his smile. <But you know war. Everything has to have clear edges, people need something concrete to grab onto. You can't really grab onto ephemeral wisps of picture and idea, can you?>

<No, but I could never speak that way,> I said. We walked again for a few minutes in silence before Cristex revived the conversation.

<So, I hope I'm not being intrusive or offensive asking this, but...why are you training now? You're so young. Why do you need to train so early?>

<My father said it was time,> I explained. <He's been teaching me since I was just a filly. I know enough now to train here.>

The kindness in his hearts seemed to shift into pity. <You are just a filly.>

I was confused, but I had no rebuttal. My father had been calling me "little  _aristh_ " now long enough that I had simply accepted it as true, but then I realized that being a little  _aristh_  and being a youth were not mutually exclusive. <What about you?> I asked, avoiding the need to defend myself.

<I plan to go down the medical track,> he said. <Field medicine, for the war, then research once my service is complete. Unfortunately, that requires me to complete basic training.>

<Unfortunately?> I asked. <You don't want to be here?>

<Does anyone?> He laughed for a time, but stopped when he looked down and saw that I was confused and hurt.

We caught up with Trainer a few moments later. We tried to sneak in the back of the group, minimizing the drama, but I sensed a danger in his playful eyes.

<Ah, good as new, no?> He announced to everyone. I hung my stalk eyes in shame as the rest of the boys scoffed at my expense. Cristex smiled reassuringly down at me, and I couldn't help but feel a little braver, since now I had at least some kind of advocate.

<Please practice the techniques we went over in pairs, everyone. Jennor,> he said privately to me, <You obviously require hoofwork training. Follow me.>

I felt my hearts drop as he led me away. Cristex easily joined up with a pair of cadets, but he watched me until we were out of sight.

We came upon the mud pit, and the overwhelming stench assaulted me and made my eyes water. Living earth, bubbling up and churning from the heat of the suns, now high overhead, was waiting to reach out and infect me. Each step fed my imagination a little bit more; I already felt covered in the stuff before I even stepped hoof in it. In my mind, it flowed between the hairs on my body and seeped into my hooves, mucking up my sensitive esophagi, leaking into my stomach. It clogged my pores, locking sweat within my skin, aggravating and drying out my complexion. I could feel the treacherous suns pull the water from it afterward, leaving me encased in a hard, cracking, dirt shell.

We reached the edge of the laser fence, and with a small device he held in his hands, he turned it off. It gave one final red flicker before disappearing completely.

<Jennor,> he said, his voice like shards of glass in a silk pouch, <Best to begin, no?>

I took one final breath of fresh air, and stepped into the muck. I did my best to keep my hooves closed, but soon the bitter taste of filth crept into my shins. A liquid layer, skimming the top, splashed up my legs, and specks of dirty water littered my flanks. I stepped as carefully as I could to the middle of the pit, and found that just standing there waiting for instructions, I was sinking.

<Figure eights to start,> he said frigidly, gazing down at me with his main eyes narrowed, armed folded loosely across his chest.

I trudged to one corner of the pit, and took a deep breath before beginning. The pit was 9 square meters, which for a fully grown adolescent wouldn't have been much of a problem, but I was too small to make a single diagonal leap across. I planted my hooves as firmly as I could in the unstable ground, and sprang away.

I only made it about half way, and I quickly leaped again, trying to futilely fool him into thinking I could cover the whole distance in one jump. But this unprepared second leap only brought me another quarter of the way. I leaped again, but now my footing was tangled, and I toppled down headfirst into the mud.

My arms sank down. My neck, chest, forelegs were all covered, coated and immobile. I blinked my main eyes and dark smears streaked across my vision.

I heard Trainer laugh above me. <You're flopping around like a  _djabala_ grub,> he said. <You can barely hold yourself upright. Pathetic.>

I glared up at him with a stalk eye as I pulled myself to my hooves, clumps now tumbling down my flanks and legs. I prepared to jump to the adjacent corner. This leap was shorter, but would still be difficult to accomplish in one take.

After about three full figure eights, I finally had a process down that kept me on my hooves and completed all journeys in two jumps or less. But after forty, I began looking up to Trainer for mercy—water, or a break for grazing (Andalites have a rapid metabolism, and need to eat constantly or else they get lightheaded and weak), or even just a moment to catch my breath. But he continued to stand there, staring down at me with those black, narrowed eyes, arms crossed loosely across his chest. The only movement he performed was rolling his stalk eyes around lazily, and then sweeping them over my mud-stained body.

<We're not having any fun, are we, Jennor?> He finally said, without changing his position at all. I continued performing the figure eights as my condition deteriorated. <Such a shame, punishing you this way. You didn't really do anything wrong, after all. Didn't break any rules. Simple underperformance did you in.> I looked up at him then, eyes wide in protest.

<Yes, it would be a shame for me to have to mark that on your record. Marring something flawless so early, no? It would be shameful.>

I stood up straight, halting the cyclical, pointless task. It was a stupid thing to do, breaking orders like that on the first day, but I had to confront this.

<No, you wouldn't like that at all, would you? No, no. Unfortunately, it is protocol.>

He shrugged slightly, but then smiled. <There is one thing you could do to make up for it.> He gestured with his stalk eye for me to continue the figure eights. I leaped across the pit in one bound, renewed with hope.

<It would be a shame if your father found out about the...ah, incident this morning. After all, he would not be very happy with you, for failing to employ his training techniques, no? He thinks you're very special, Jennor, and to hear that you are as mediocre as any of these pubescent colts, well, that would ruin him, wouldn't it?>

I was confused, and though I knew I would be punished for questioning him, I could think of no worse punishment than what I was doing at that moment. <Why do you care how he feels about me?>

<Oh, well, I don't, Jennor. The relationships between parents and their children interest me little. But, he would come at me, of course. Argue with me for defeating you so soon, for forcing his prized  _aristh_  to realize how meaningless she really is. And to be quite honest, I don't want to have to deal with him.>

<He frightens you?> I inferred, before I could stop myself.

The playful gaze turned into a glare. <That is not what I said,> he growled. <I simply don't want to have conversations that don't need to be had. Especially ones which include...unsavory accusations.>

The playful gaze returned, and I leapt across the pit again with less power than before. <We're going to let you keep your record, then?> he said finally.

<Yes, sir,> I responded.

For hours more I leapt around the mud pit, until the Elder sun began ducking beneath the horizon, until I could no longer even feel the pain in my muscles, and was simply aware of a strange, buzzing jelly-like substance beneath my skin. My lungs had hardened into concrete, my throat was dry and cracked, like the mud around my chest and shoulders. My stomach had stopped growling, and now merely sank in heavy submission. Sweat beaded and coated the mud all the way from my neck to my hooves. I wasn't sure how much longer I could stand.

<All right, Jennor,> he said, just as the Elder sun finally hid completely from view. <I've kept you an hour longer than I should have. You may go home. Your father must be worried, no?>

He reached down, grabbed my hand, and dragged me out of the pool.

I wiped off my hooves hastily and rubbed them furiously over the grass, crushing and chomping so I could ingest it. My flailing orifices swallowed without sufficiently chewing. Unprocessed chunks of grass and root crawled up my legs. It would be difficult to sleep tonight.

He allowed me to sit there for a couple of minutes before ordering me to my hooves. I got up and continued to suck moisture from the grass as I took small, sore steps away from the pit and towards my home.

<Jennor, remember our agreement,> Trainer said, a hint of urgency shaded with guilt in his voice. I looked back at him with a stalk eye, and he paused for a while. <I will see you tomorrow,> he said finally, and I nodded my stalk eye in agreement.

The run that had taken me only about 10 minutes with my father that morning took me almost an hour by myself. I felt bitter and lonely on the way back. I'd meant to come to training impressive with my precocious talent, earning compliments and praise. And what had I done? Embarrassed myself. Almost earned enough dishonor to get expelled on the first day. Our neighbors watched me with concern as I left a dripping trail of mud, limping weakly on my creaking legs. The final rays of the Younger sun ushered me home, to the scoop that now looked much different than it had that morning.

For one thing, my father was talking to a young woman within it.

I could tell right away this was not good, though it distracted me from my overwhelming failure. I stood atop our rise for a while, trying to figure out what was going on before being spotted. Frantic thoughts raced through my mind. I tried to apply some kind of order to them. How should I react? What questions were okay to ask? I felt panic surge into my hearts again for the second time that day. Who was this woman? Why was my father speaking to her, why had he invited her into his scoop? My father never invited visitors. People only entered our scoop if they were unsolicited, usually from the military. Why would he allow this complete stranger to come into his home?

Before I could sort out what I would say and in what order I would say it, my father's stalk eye caught sight of me. It was smiling. He gestured for me to descend the hill, to come meet his guest.

Despite the fear, I couldn't help but let hope sweep through as well. Trainer's mention of a mother earlier that day had seemed completely random, but...had he known something about this?

Did I have one? And if I did, was she this woman?

I held my breath, and hoped the quality of the day would achieve some sort of symmetry.

<You're late,> my father said, almost nonchalantly. <I see you've discovered the wonder of hoofwork training.>

I attempted a feeble smile, but even my stalk eyes felt sore.

Without saying anything, I glared at the girl as obviously as I could. Up close, she seemed much different. Scared. Wobbly, almost. Her stalk eyes did not move, and her tail hung low and loose. She was doing something strange with her left hand—rubbing her third finger and thumb together so they made a loud popping sound. She stared at me with light blue eyes that almost perfectly matched her skin tone. She was not old, but she was no longer a child. Somewhere near the end of her third interval, or perhaps very early in her fourth.

<Jennor, I'd like to introduce you to someone,> my father said, putting his hand on her shoulder. I felt a sweep of envy, but I wasn't sure why. <Well, I'll introduce you, but she is mute, so I can't introduce her.>

I looked at the girl, who seemed slightly miffed by this statement.

<Why is she here?> I asked, much less subtly than I had planned.

My father smiled a big, strange smile that warped his scar. The second smile of the day, though this one unsettled me. <She will be looking after you from now on,> he said, kissing my cheek softly as I stared up at him in shock.


	5. Chapter Four: Teresa Rerin

Chapter Four

Teresa Rerin

1979

Here I was, standing on this strange world, in this strange body, looking at these strange people who were looking back at me just as strangely. It would have been just fine to call the whole situation "awkward" if I weren't scared out of my mind.

The strange little girl was glaring at me with her strange eyes. She seemed too young to be so understanding. At first, I thought she was gonna topple over, on her knees, like those newborn horses in animal shows on PBS. Her upper body was like a kid's, but it was still very strange, because she was lean, and muscular, and I would say bony if she didn't seem so strong. She was a force to be reckoned with, and she knew it.

Despite her strange appearance, it was hard not to look her in the eye. They were so strange, and so big, and so open. These creatures, these aliens, whatever they were, they were a lot like humans. Most of them kept their eyes open only enough to see, only as much as they needed. They hid the rest. This girl didn't hide nothing. She kept her lids relaxed, and her eyes hung loose out of them. There weren't no secrets, and I could feel everything she felt. Betrayed, alone, sad, and angry. I looked away. She scared me.

Her stalk eye was pointed square at the old man, who I could only guess was her daddy. These strange creatures didn't have mouths, and they could talk to each other in private if they wanted. In her eyes, I could see her accusing him, telling him how hurt she was, but he looked unmoved by whatever she said. Finally, though, his eyes got all soft and mad, and he turned slowly to her, as she shook her head, trying to unsay whatever she had just said.

<You question my loyalty, my strength, my quality. You question things you cannot even comprehend, Jennor. You insist on hurting me, you force me to reevaluate every decision I have made since then, relive every wound I have received. You insult me, with your selfish curiosity. You're so much like…> He trailed off for a moment, looking back at me, glaring like it was my fault. <It is something I would expect of a common, grass-stained foal, not an upstanding  _aristh_.> He continued. <Accept what I have granted you with grace and poise, and do not dwell on the irrelevant questions of your past.>

The girl looked ready to crumble. Her eyes quivered with a revealing sort of weakness, and though I could tell it was hard for her, she pressed the question the rest of the way.

<What happened to her?>

His eye turned hard, real sudden, stiff and metal. He reached his big hand forward real slow and wrapped it hard around her upper arm. <She is gone, Jennor. She has gone where we cannot follow. And she will never, ever come back.>

His voice was as close a thing to spoken English that I had heard in weeks. It was hard, and less comforting than his previous voice, but it was clearer. Even though it wasn't English, I could understand him near perfect. The way diamonds sparkle more bright if they've been cut and shaped, his words echoed around my head and refracted meaning.

He glared down at her, his hard eyes were like light bulbs, and hers were soft, like water. She was shaking her head slightly, trying to unsay whatever it was she had said, and make the whole mess disappear. She swatted and clawed weakly at his hand, which gripped her arm so tight that the dirty skin bulging around it had turned dark blue. He didn't flinch. He wanted to make sure his point was made, and he kept glaring until her eyes turned downward and she stopped struggling.

He let go of her arm, and I could see six thick white lines where his fingers had clasped her. He turned to me, his eyes all set and glassy, and said simply, <Make sure she is restful before it is all-dark. And clean her up.>

The girl collapsed onto the ground in a heap like a steer in a slaughterhouse. Her skin was matted and wet with mud, and her tail and stalk eyes hung loose toward the ground. I was beginning to understand—these strange, mouthless creatures seemed at first altogether unmovable, but after observing them for a while, it was clear that they had a whole different system for expressing themselves. They smiled with their eyes—stalk eyes if only a little pleased, main eyes if ecstatic, and frowned the same way. Their stalk eyes and tails were held up high if proud, low if defeated. I tried keeping my own high, but it was so heavy.

I walked over to the girl—she didn't seem as threatening now as she had earlier, and as ashamed as I felt of it, I wanted to obey the man's orders while she was still subdued and sad. I grabbed her hand, and tried to pull her up. I laughed a little, thinking how ridiculous this whole situation was, how like a little baby she was, all tangled and yearning, wanting to walk. I remembered a time when my cousin brought her little girl over, how she clung to the coffee table, eyes filled with accomplishment and pride.

<I am no infant,> the little girl said feebly, after a long pause in which her eye slowly turned up to look at me.

I looked down at her in shock.  _She can understand me?_

<You are speaking very softly, but yes, I can hear you,> she said, sadness still spilling from her mind. <My Father thinks you are a mute. He must not be able to hear you. What is your name?>

I looked down at her curiously, wondering if it was a good idea to tell her. It hadn't been a good idea last time. None of these aliens knew my secret yet—if I told her my name, she would be able to figure it out, and if she figured out my secret—

<You are not one of us,> she concluded. <You are thinking too loudly. I can still hear you. What is your name?> she repeated, now distracted enough to be annoyed rather than sad.

_Teresa Rerin_ , I thought.

<You are soft again. Think loudly, like you want me to hear.>

<Teresa Rerin,> I said.

<We can work on that,> the girl said, a hint of smile playing in her stalk eye. <Welcome to Andal, Teresa Rerin.>

This renewed her sense of accomplishment enough for me to help her to her feet, and she brought me into the scoop to retrieve a small device that depolarized the dirt particles on her fur and exfoliated dead skin and hair cells. That was how she described it, but from what I could understand it was a laser that cleaned her off. We stepped outside, and I ran the laser slowly around her body, letting big clumps of mud slide down her skin and onto the ground. We were quiet for a while, but soon she asked, <If you are not one of us, what are you?>

I looked at her for a little too long, and burned her a little bit with the laser. <Sorry,> I said quickly. <I, um, I don't really know how to explain this whole thing, it's kind of a long story…>

<Well then,> she said, wiping off a real big clump of mud from her shoulder, <it's probably best to start at the beginning.>

I'd been living in a foster home for the last year or so. A dingy little hovel with an aluminum roof that leaked in the rain and baked in the sun. My foster parents left me well enough alone in most cases, but they were all too attentive in others. Frank was my foster father, and I had found his hand one too many times resting places it had no business being.

I'd wanted to run away as long as I could remember. But there was baggage. I had a twin sister who I'd always taken care of, and I couldn't imagine leaving her in that hell. But taking her with made the whole situation four times more complicated, and I certainly wasn't smart enough for that.

But in the end, smart didn't have nothing to do with it. Frank came home smelling of piss and vinegar and forced himself on me, all grippy like velcro, and I couldn't slip away. He ran his crusty white tongue over my neck and I had to hit him to break free. He burst open like a volcano and I ran, and I just kept running.

Each time my foot pounded the ground, I felt a lurch of guilt in my stomach. Leaving my sister there all alone to tame that gross old tongue, to sit with her neck tilted away, as much in prison as someone who's murdered. But what could I do? If I'd have stayed, he'd have hit me, or raped me, or worse. I had an opportunity to break free, and I took it. No one would have blamed me.

The plan had changed, but I tried to stay up about it. My mama always used to tell me that no matter how bad things got, there was always someone had it worse. I wasn't exactly sure why that was comforting, but it was. I didn't remember my daddy very much, but I remember one thing that he had said to me too, just as comforting, making a little bit more sense—God only gives us challenges He knows we can handle. This one worked for a while, but also stopped making any sense when my daddy hanged himself in his bedroom while my mama was picking up the dry cleaning. God's challenges were just too much for my daddy to handle. Maybe my challenges would be too. I asked my mama about it, and she said that it wasn't God's challenges that did my daddy in, it was Uncle Sam's. The army wrote us a nice big check to keep us quiet about it, but my mama milked all that away on all different sorts of drugs, some that required long rubber tubes and needles, others that required clear glass tubes and bent spoons. Before long, more of Uncle Sam's people came to take my sister and me away. They had tried calling our big half-brother, but they couldn't find him, so we ended up with Frank. My mama kept in touch with us a lot for the first couple of years, but before long, she stopped calling, and stopped writing, and a couple of years after that, we heard those different tubes had finally sucked her all the way down.

But it didn't matter. I had just enough cash on me for a nice, long bus ride, and hopefully enough smarts in my head and strength in my back to make it from there. I took the first bus out to the country the following morning, and decided to find work on some kind of farm. I hoped it wouldn't be too hard—I didn't have any experience working a farm, but I was pretty sure it would be a nice, quiet job in a nice, quiet town with a nice, quiet wage given under a nice, quiet table. I didn't have any prospects when I got off the bus, so I decided to take a nice, quiet walk through the countryside to get to know the lay of the land.

Between two properties, the noon sun high overhead, I found a nice, quiet little gravel path that seemed to be beckoning me to follow it. I started walking, and inhaled a deep breath of sweet air that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. I followed the path for a while, to the end of each of the fields, where a forest, bubbling up and down the landscape, loomed ahead. The path continued, and the sun was getting a little heavy on my skin, so I decided to follow the path a little further and get me some shade. Another forty-five minutes or so passed, and the world kept getting lonelier and lonelier. Trees were getting taller, and there were fewer spaces between them. The path was also getting narrower and harder to follow, and soon enough, I was pretty sure I was just walking blind through the forest. I saw wildlife that was more and more exotic—a bobcat, in broad daylight, and a family of deer. Soon, I heard the refreshing sound of running water—my walk had now gone on more than a few hours and I was getting thirsty. I followed my ears, and walked into the middle of a large clearing, where a single, dead oak tree stood over a small creek.

The sun was still pretty high overhead, and the grass was tall and soft. All sorts of wildflowers swayed slowly in the breeze, and I felt undeserving of such sweet, natural beauty. I had committed a sin worse than anything I could think of—killing her wouldn't have been so cruel. How could I possibly deserve such peace?

I wandered over to the creek, and lay down next to it. I dipped my hand in the cool, clear water, and splashed it over my face. It was refreshing and cold, and I felt the sweat on my brow, and all of the guilt pounding the inside of my skull run away. I cupped my hands together and dipped them in the water, drinking from the creek. A few more gulps left me satisfied, and I rested my head on my arms, and fell asleep under the watchful protection of the afternoon sun.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my side. " _Grafat_  dead?" I heard a rough, deep, alien voice muttering. "No,  _harnat_  moving."

I looked up to see two devilish faces staring down at me.

They were tall, and terrifying, and snake-like, but the only thing I could see was their eyes. Their eyes were yellow, hard, widening slits—like a cat. An unnatural light seemed to be glowing from them—even the light from the sun was shadowed by those horrible points of despair. They glared down at me, and when they realized I was awake, they dilated.

"Grab it," one said.

I tried to scramble away, but the beasts were big and strong. One of them wrapped his giant, bladed hands around my waist, and I tried to pry them off, but they wouldn't budge. I began kicking and screaming and crying, but he wrapped his arms around me and put his bladed hands against my throat, and the other one now had a weapon even more dangerous than the blades I saw jutting from every joint in his body—a gun, a futuristic, sci-fi ray gun that was whirring dangerously.

"Human  _rettle_ quiet," it growled softly. I stopped moving, and breathed fast, and tried to keep my head.

The beast carried me with his wrist blade against my throat until he stopped and put me on the ground. He told me to stay still, and the other kept his whirring gun trained on me, as the first one disappeared through a door that simply opened up in the middle of the meadow to retrieve something.

The door closed, concealed again, and I stared up at the beast. He was about seven feet tall, with thick, green skin, like organic armor, coating his body. Long blades, cracked and yellow like old toenails, emerged through his skin at regular points in his body—his wrists, his elbows, his knees, his ankles. It seemed like one wrong move and he could impale himself, or even worse, me, but he seemed to be gifted with some grace in addition to his raw power. And his eyes, his yellow eyes that were turning orange as the day became darker and darker, burned with a life that I wished I could harness.

Soon, the door reopened, and the second beast came outside to stand guard. Another one of these beasts, this one even taller, and clothed in some sort of tight, shiny leather, emerged from within the invisible room and walked over to me.

"Ahh, finally," it said in near perfect English, still tainted with a breathy lisp due to his long mouth, "an actual specimen."

He leaned over me and stuck his frightening fingers, capped in sharp claws, in my face, under my arms, in my stomach. "Much more feeble than I would have expected. Two legs, no tail, as our spies have noted. How do they remain upright?"

The other beast, sensing the clothed beast wanted to perform an experiment, pulled me to my feet. I was shaking so bad that I could hardly stand. He let me get my bearings, and then gave me a little shove. I caught myself, and the smaller beast looked to the bigger one.

"Push her harder." This second shove was a little bit worse, but I still managed to catch myself. "Again," it said, a little bit more urgency in his voice. With two hands, the shorter beast pushed me down and I fell backwards onto the ground. I wasn't hurt, but I started sobbing on the spot.

"Ah, yes, well," the clothed beast said. "I suppose everything falls if you push it hard enough. Even an Andalite." All of the beasts shared a laugh at this incomprehensible joke.

"What is your name, human?"

"Teresa Rerin," I mumbled through tears, before I could stop myself.

"I see. Female. Of the reproductive age, but not very far into that term. Perhaps we should breed her, obtain more specimens. The council is very interested in this planet. The more we can offer them, the better our chances that they'll reprioritize and send actual troops for immediate invasion."

"Yes, sir."

At this point a deep anger gripped me, and I finally decided it was time to fight back a little. I got up and scrambled backwards, threatening to run away, but the beast standing guard at the invisible door trained his weapon on me again.

"Little human, where would you go?" The clothed beast asked. "The forest is miles in all directions—how you got out here is but one of the mysteries I yearn to solve. Why you came here, for instance, is another. But the mysteries I am most interested are the ones I know you can answer—I want you to tell me everything about your little culture. Your little society. How many of you are there, what technological advancements have you achieved? Have you discovered the realm of zero-space yet? No?"

I shook my head slowly, the tears clung to my jaw, and I felt a great wave of nausea and vomited.

"Ah, human, no need to be upset." The beast said. "We will not kill you, if that is what concerns you. You are a highly valued commodity, and we need you alive."

Suddenly I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my neck, and I realized the third beast had managed to sneak behind me with some kind of shot. I felt its effects almost immediately, and fell to the meadow floor.

I opened my eyes, and it took them a few, frightening moments to focus. I realized we were no longer in the forest—there were no birds singing, no wind in the grass, no cicadas buzzing. There was a high-pitched humming sound that seemed to be accelerating, and the smell of rubbing alcohol. I tried to turn my head, but found that I couldn't. I wondered if the drug the beasts had given me was some kind of paralyzer, but then my mouth opened, and I spoke.

"I have increased epinephrine production, and have regained consciousness," the words said. "Yes, the girl is awake too."

My eyes opened a little wider and they saw the clothed beast standing above me. "What news shall I deliver to Councilman Sessil?"

"They are class five, sub-Visser."

The beasts's eyes widened, and he smiled a strange, toothy smile. "Excellent," he whispered. "Get out of there, no doubt he'll want to inspect this being himself when we meet up with him. A second testimony may be enough to convince the rest of the Council."

Suddenly I realized there was another presence in my head. Something in my mind, thinking with me and moving for me. It didn't speak in words, but I could understand what it was thinking, what it was remembering. A sort of stream of thought passed through my head, in addition to my own, and it was both totally separate from my own personality and completely part of it. As completely as it was sharing its thoughts and memories with me, I realized it was reading my own thoughts, remembering my memories, calming me down. At first, I'm not going to lie, it was sort of pleasant. Sort of comforting. I am so lonely sometimes that I wish there was someone else who knew what I was going through, someone else who could understand. And now there was.

But as soon as the comfort came, a sense of dread came as well. Now that it realized I was awake and that I was sharing its thoughts, it cut me off. Now it was just a leech, feeding off of my own thoughts, keeping its thoughts from me. In shock, I wanted to gasp, but I couldn't. I wanted to get up and shake my head to force the intruder out, but I couldn't. I started screaming, in the cage of my own head.

<Calm down, human, I'm leaving you soon anyway.> It said, a clipped, controlled burst of thought that it allowed to pass from itself to me.

Big hands with sharp claws grabbed me at my shoulders and hips and held me in my position on the cold, steel ground. A second beast came with a small bowl of molten fluid and held it beneath my right ear. Suddenly I felt heaviness and a deep pain in my head, like I was clogged shut with the worst cold ever. My hearing became muffled and dim, and a deep pressure came from within my head, forcing its way out of my ear.

The pain reached a point where it was unbearable, but then I felt a cool trickle of liquid in my ear, and it diminished. The skin became more elastic, and the thing coming out of me squeezed hard, but managed to fit through the narrow canal. Soon enough, I felt a squirming, disgusting tip of something emerge from the hole in my ear, peeking around, and it kept growing and squeezing. Finally, with more weight on the outside than in, the rest of its body slid out fast and plopped real satisfying into the molten liquid.

I only then realized I was breathing normally.  _I_  was breathing normally. I flexed the fingers on my right hand, and then I started mad convulsing, trying to break free of the monster, trying to get up so I could run away.

They were holding me down, and I couldn't move.

"Anesthetize her again," the clothed Hork-Bajir said. I knew what they were called now, and what they were, because of those brief moments of intimacy. I knew what they were doing, and what they wanted with me.

They were Yeerks.

Just as I felt the pin prick of another syringe from one of the Hork-Bajir holding me down, there was a loud, piercing, crashing sound, and the ship shook hard. The Hork-Bajir holding me down let go so he could run to the helm, and as soon as I could regain balance, I clambered up to find a hiding place.

The Hork-Bajir were frantic. "Get compensators back online!" one snapped. "Regain helm control! Fire back! Fire back! Open fire!"

I hid under a control panel as the Hork-Bajir fought against their attackers. I had seen a vivid, but brief image of the enemy—an elegant, blue, centaur-like creature with a wicked sharp tail blade hanging over his head, a look of satisfaction bordering on arrogance in his four, bright eyes. Despite this image, I had no idea what they were called.

Within a few minutes, the battle was lost. The main lights had gone off, and emergency runners that outlined the various equipment, walkways and chairs glowed red. One of the Hork-Bajir had hit his head hard on the wall, and had fallen to the ground, dark green blood oozing from his ears. The other two were trying to make up for lost time and manpower, but soon, the ship powered down, and they had no choice but to launch a defensive against the invaders that were boarding their ship.

The outline of the hatch glowed white, and I watched silent from my hiding place under the panel. After a few minutes, it opened, and a bright light from behind the intruder obscured its face. It stepped ginger onto the ship with clicking hooves, and looked around real careful, swerving its stalk eyes, pointing its ray gun in various corners, using infra-red detection technology in the gun to see where the Hork-Bajir were.

But the gun didn't help. A Hork-Bajir screamed loud and trained its gun on the intruder, but it was faster. A bright blue light leapt from its gun and hit the Hork-Bajir square in the chest. A gaping, clean hole appeared, and the Hork-Bajir reeled in panic, and slammed to the floor of the ship, twitching.

I looked around and saw the glowing eyes of the lead, clothed Hork-Bajir watching from beneath the control panel. He glared right back.

I decided, without much information or logic, to help the centaur. "He's under there!" I shouted, pointing with my human (and unarmed) hand to the control panel. The Hork-Bajir's eyes widened in surprise, and he pulled himself out to launch a last attack on the sole centaur.

It was no contest. Keeping his stalk eyes on me, the centaur shot the leader dead, and did one last visual and infra-red sweep of the ship to see there were no more threats.

No more threats save me.

He stared at me as one of his companions crept onto the ship, which, with the dead bodies of the Hork-Bajir, was starting to get crowded. The first centaur walked over to me and, pointing his gun real menacing, pulled me out from beneath the panel.

<What is it, Germodd?> the centaur behind him asked.

<Looks like an experiment,> he said. <No doubt some new species the Yeerks want to infest.>

<How fortunate for us,> the other centaur said. I realized she was a girl.

<Indeed,> the leader, Germodd, said. <All too fortunate.>

They spoke no more to me, but walked me over to their ship, prodding me with those awful tail blades and their guns. Guns called Shredders, that's what the Yeerk knew. I knew I wouldn't be hurt if they shot me with one, but it wouldn't matter, because I couldn't imagine keeping alive much longer no matter what.

Without saying anything to me, they led me down a short hallway, and even though the walk didn't take very long, I felt much better aboard this new ship. Soft grass lined the bottom of the ship, softer even than the grass I used to run in as a kid. The ceiling overhead looked like a pink sky, and even the air smelled fresh. For a moment, when I closed my eyes, I convinced myself I was still asleep by that cool creek in the clearing with the dead oak tree, and everything had just been an awful dream.

But as soon as I stopped to breathe, the man behind me tapped me again with his gun and led me to a small room, no bigger than a closet. There were some off-white, pod-shaped boxes stacked in the corner. I went inside, and turned around again. He seemed curious about me, excited too, but also afraid. The door slid shut automatically, and I decided I had no real choice but to sit and wait.

I wanted to sleep, but all the drugs still in my system made it hard. I wondered if this is how my mama had felt, wanting to sleep, but unable because of the drugs. I could see how adding more would seem to help. I wanted more, but I wasn't really in a position to ask.

So I sat there, teetering on the edge of sleep without being allowed to fall, for a couple of hours. I didn't trust the centaurs, which probably had a lot to do with it. But they weren't bothering me. They hadn't stuck any slugs in my ear, and one even came back and gave me a plastic pouch full of some kind of pureed wheat grass. It tasted like dirt, but it filled me up and seemed to settle my thrashing stomach, so I figured just eat it and hope for the best.

Finally, the female centaur came by. She opened the door and gazed down at me. I got up slow, watching her eyes the whole time. They looked sad and pitying. I didn't want her pity. Sitting there so long had turned all the tired I felt into mad. I glared at her.

She stepped back from the door and let me out. The male centaur was standing behind her, holding a small cube that glowed a dull blue color, watching me approach.

<Germodd, please. This is a really terrible idea,> the female said. I looked over at her, and she was wringing her hands.

<Calm yourself, Istreen. You will not be held accountable should something go wrong.>

Germodd walked over and presented the cube. He gestured for me to touch it. I eyed him real wary.

<Do you think it can understand language? How primitive is this race?> Germodd asked.

<The Yeerks' computer indicated that they are an industrialized civilization. It should be able to speak,> Istreen replied.

<Touch the device,> Germodd said to me. In my head, I saw an image of myself touching the cube. He was trying to coerce me!

I knew all about coercion, and I decided not to cooperate with them. I figured my best bet was to keep letting them think I was dumb. I stared at the cube without moving, like a dog staring at a leash the first time he's gotta be tied down.

Germodd sighed impatiently. Istreen kept pitying me. I didn't know what they wanted.

<Grab her hand, it appears we've got to do this ourselves.>

<If we can't even get her to touch the device, how are we going to get her to acquire me or even morph?> Istreen asked. <I don't think this is going to work, Germodd. This isn't worth breaking our most important law.>

<Don't you see, Istreen? If Escafil's technology works on a race so fundamentally different from ourselves, then it proves my theories on alien cultural acclimation are true! We can export the technology to formulate my device. After all, what's the point of a device that can acclimate different races to each other's customs if it only works on Andalites?>

<You could just test the device you have here, couldn't you? Do we really need to give it the power to morph?> Istreen asked.

<It's not ready. And this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Istreen.>

Germodd stepped over to me real slow, extending his arm so the device was inches in front of my face. Istreen walked over too, keeping her stalk eyes on Germodd and her main eyes on me. She looked like she was about to cry.

I didn't know what the device would do, but it seemed like the invention Germodd was talking about was harmless. And if he invented something to make it easier for different races to communicate, he wouldn't be all too excited about killing someone from a race he'd never met before, right? So I decided to touch the cube.

Germodd was surprised by my action, but held it out for me all the same. It glowed bright for a second, but then dimmed. Germodd pulled it away.

The two centaurs stood silent for a while, watching me real careful. <Did it work? Can she morph?> Istreen asked.

<Let her touch you,> Germodd suggested.

I walked over to the girl and touched her hand. It was cool, and a little smaller than my own. I felt a tingling in my fingertips, and her stalk eyes drooped. She pulled away and looked at me.

Germodd stepped over and stood in front of me. <It's clear you can understand us,> he said. <Picture her in your mind, and change into her. Quickly, now.>

Without hesitation, I did as I was told.

I had realized that the reason I was so scared and angry was because I was so defenseless. Without the ability to stand up for myself, what hope did I have? These centaurs not only had ray guns, but beautiful tails capped with terrifying blades. If they were really going to let me change into one of them, I wasn't going to be bashful. I wanted to level the playing field. I wanted them to know I wasn't going to lie down for them. They could point their gun at me and perform their experiments, but I wasn't a lab rat. I was a human, and the fact they didn't know that could really work for me.

I don't need to tell you how strange morphing is. It's like puberty in two minutes. Annoying and gut-wrenching, but not necessarily painful. It just makes you sort of sick to your stomach.

But soon, I was done. And I stood about six inches taller, seeing in all directions, with a beautiful tail blade attached to my back.

I struck.

I didn't look at what. I just struck.

And they blocked me easy.

<Get on her other side, Istreen!> The girl leapt daintily over and blocked one of my blows.

I hadn't thought over my plan so well. Just because someone can turn into Bruce Lee doesn't mean they can fight like him. And there were two of them. And they still had a gun.

Germodd took aim and fired. I don't remember anything after that, but I woke up in the same closet they let me out of. I was still changed into the girl.

There was a sensor on my head that started flashing when I woke up. Soon, Istreen opened the door and looked down at me, a little disgust now mixed in with her pity.

<You shouldn't have done that,> she said. <There's only a two hour limit on morphing. Now you're stuck that way. Like me.> She spoke the last sentence with disdain. She didn't like that she had been so crucial in the experiment. She was angry that she wasn't the only Istreen anymore.

<We were going to take you home,> she whispered, an edge of fury in her voice. <But that planet can no longer be your home.>

I felt a stab of grief, but to be totally honest, I wasn't that upset. Earth seemed so far and vulnerable now that it was being invaded. And besides, my life there hadn't been perfect or anything. Part of me wanted to go back and warn people, raise the alarm, be a hero. Another part of me wanted to hide somewhere I knew would be safe.

Since I couldn't really turn the ship around, I let them take me to my new home.

That was a planet that was about three weeks away. Germodd spent that time doing little experiments on me. He checked my metabolism, my heartrate, everything. He was curious about how an individual can survive the morphing experience without the benefit of years of somatosensic development. I didn't know what he was talking about, but he was keeping me alive, so I thought it best just to keep going along with it.

They dropped me off at a spaceport, paid a young cadet to take care of me, and left. I didn't plan on ever seeing them again.

The young cadet, having heard my situation, decided to pass me off to someone else. He said I needed a job, and since I didn't have many skills, nannying for veteran families was what he prescribed.

<And that's how I ended up here,> I told the strange, little girl with her big, watery eyes. Like Istreen, she looked up at me with pity.

<I've heard about  _nothlits_  before,> she said quietly, <but I never thought I'd meet one. There's an entire department of the military devoted to the psychological trauma of becoming a  _nothlit_.>

<I'm not traumatized,> I said to her with a sigh. <I actually kind of like it here.>

The girl smiled. <What better place is there?>

I smiled to her, and sucked on the grass with my hooves. It smelled nice. All the same, the opinion I'd given was not totally true. I missed Earth. I missed TV and the oldies radio station that my friend's mom listened to in the car, and my across-the-street neighbor who would always test out new cookie recipes on me and my sister. Food. I really missed food.

I sighed, realizing that right then I had a decision to make. I could miss Earth. I could spend all of my time yearning to go home, back maybe not to my life, but at least to my home. To traffic jams and alarm clocks and picnics and Christmas and sales tax. I could waste all of my energy wanting something that was too hard to get on my own.

Or, I could move forward. Up. Out. Wherever this was. I could do better this time than I'd done the last.

<What should I call you?> The girl asked. <I guess I don't have a mother—>

<Oh no, no no, don't call me that,> I said quickly, so surprised and scared that I almost laughed. <You already had one of them.> I averted my glance, cursing my own insensitivity. <I'm real sorry about that, by the way. My mama died too, a few years back.>

The girl's eyes narrowed in some emotion she was trying to hide. I felt sort of bad for hurting her feelings, so I said, <I know how to be a pretty good sister. How does that sound?>

Jennor shrugged, shaking off the sadness. <I guess I don't have a sister, either.>

I winced suddenly, realizing I actually hadn't been so great of a sister. But here, in my new up, out, and forward life, with this little girl on this strange planet, maybe I had a second chance.

<I don't know what sisters here do. Play with Barbies? Braid each other's hair?>

<What's braid?> The girl asked.

<Here,> I said, bending down to pull three blades of grass from the ground. I held them securely in one hand, and with the other, wove outside strands into the middle. <Always into the middle, see? It makes a braid.>

I finished half of the braid, and gave the other half to the girl to practice. She learned fast and finished it in no time.

<Braid,> she repeated. In a flash, she suddenly imagined all of the different uses for the technique. Slings to hold ray guns, ropes and supports for makeshift bridges. Like telepathy, she showed them all to me in a quick flash, and I nodded, impressed.

<How do you do that?> I asked.

<Do what?> She frowned. <I just realized you're going to need an Andalite name, if you want to fit in here.>

<Andalites, is that what you call yourselves?> I asked. <Well, fair enough then. What's your name?>

<Jennor-Elacable-Barees,> she responded. <And you are Teresa Rerin, correct?>

<Yes. That's me.>

<Teresa is a foul-sounding name. I have heard the name Terenia before, does that please you?> She asked.

I was sort of offended, but shrugged in acceptance.

<Rerin is acceptable for your generational name...and for your third name, we shall use the name of Shamtul, in honor of the newest hero to emerge from  _The Warrior Chronicles_ , War-Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul.>

<So what is it again?> I asked.

The girl smiled, and bowed her head. <Welcome to Andal, Terenia-Rerin-Shamtul.>


	6. Chapter Five: Ax

Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill

Eighteen Years Later

The Animorphs and I stood within Cassie's barn. Our usual meeting place. The discussion topics were usual. The attitudes were usual. Marco was using the usual human coping mechanism called "sarcasm" to complain about a poor grade he received on a mathematics examination. Prince Jake ignored him, attempting to reclaim everyone's attention, as usual. Cassie was tending her usual patients, and Rachel's smile seemed out of place. Perhaps something Tobias was saying privately. I was not engaged in their usual discourse. I was distracted by the heavy Earth air, the humidity that made my fur cling to my skin, the foul heat that swirled and lingered around my neck.

It was all the usual.

Cassie's parents were attending a conference, allowing me the security of standing in my normal form. Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the planks and made glowing patches on the floor. My eyes wandered helplessly, stuck in a space far too small for comfort. I rubbed my sternum. Stomach acid had begun to rise all the way into my upper body. I needed the grass of home. Earth grass had not been agreeing with me for quite some time.

"Anyway, that's settled. Ax, is that cool with you?" My Prince asked. I looked up at him and saw that all the Animorphs were staring at me expectantly.

<I am sorry, Prince Jake. I did not hear the question.> I responded, catching the sight of a small raccoon huddled in the corner of a wire cage.

The Animorphs seemed to have their own brand of thought-speech, and looked at each other, communicating in a language I was both too tired and too frustrated to decipher.

"I just asked if you wanted to come to the mall with us. Get a Cinnabon, or, you know, four. We're, um..."

"We're worried about you." Cassie finished for him.

"You've been acting weird, man." Marco agreed.

I turned a stalk eye up to Tobias. Surely he should have warned me about such an inquisition.

<I'm sorry, Ax-Man, they blindsided me with this before you got here,> he whispered to me privately.

<I see,> I responded. <I understand what you are saying to me,> I said to all the Animorphs, <but I do not require any assistance from you at this moment. I am perfectly content.>

"Tobias says you haven't been eating," Rachel said. "Now, I tried that for a while, and believe me—"

<Thank you for your concern,> I interrupted her. <Will there be anything else?>

"Well," Jake said, "are you coming?"

<No, Prince Jake. I am not.>

I walked out of the back entrance of the barn, and as soon as I was clear of the door way, I began sprinting back to the scoop.

I couldn't explain exactly what had caused my feelings of emptiness and restlessness. I had grown to love the humans, but I'd been alone for a very long time. I had thought about it enough to realize that I'd felt this way since Estrid had left. Perhaps I had what humans refer to as a "broken heart."

But that was not the only reason for my confusion and ambivalence. I'd lost more than just love, I'd lost the very reality of a companion Andalite, another of my race, someone I could speak to without explaining every simple ritual or taboo, someone I didn't have to wait for on an intellectual level. The humans were kind, but they were frustrating, and my ignorance of their culture frustrated them just as much. I longed for a compatible friend.

Of course, I was no fool. Fate had delivered me such a potential companion. Gafinilan could perhaps not be a friend, but I could certainly visit with him. Talk with him. Perhaps even reminisce about our time aboard the  _GalaxyTree_. But not while he housed and protected that  _vecol_. I could not associate with someone afflicted by such depravity and deviance. And I certainly could not sacrifice my integrity by acknowledging an invalid as an acceptable member of society.

I knew I was being selfish. There were much worse things Mertil could be.

But my selfish longings were irrelevant. I had other things to focus on. I had recently begun a training program that was designed to strengthen my tail and back muscles. Unfortunately, the only opponent I had was Tobias, who required a morph of me to spar. It was unsettling to fight my doppelganger, not to mention that he provided little challenge. Otherwise, I kept my muscles strong and blade sharp by slicing into Earth's hard trees. But even this could not last for long. I could not leave too many marks lest a Yeerk scout patrol find them and recognize what caused them.

So many caveats stopped every course of action I desired to take. Imperfect plans, immutable rules, and constant obligations frustrated me, leaving me impotent and impatient. I often felt the sudden and inexplicable urge to run into the human city in my Andalite form, free and mad and unstoppable. No Cinnabon, no matter how well-crafted, could help that.

And though my sadness could at times overwhelm me, it did not on the night I felt that distinct and wonderful rush of heat.

It was very fortunate that she landed in such proximity to me. I actually had the skill to help her. Both of my parents are doctors. While my mother chose to specialize in prenatal calcification deformities, my father was a field medic in the military. He didn't see much action before his term of service was up, but it gave him the requisite distinction to ensure that both of his sons received the best training. This training did not only include enrollment in one of the most prestigious academies on the equator, but he himself taught me as much about medicine as he could. Even before I left home, I had the training of a full nurse on Andal.

I felt a pang of homesickness as I recalled this thought. I never told the Animorphs about this skill set, about my father's involvement in my education. Unwise to burden them with entirely irrelevant information. There were no Andalites on Earth for me to use it on.

So perhaps it was irony or fate that brought the girl to me. But with every ounce of elation conjured by that rush of heat came an equal ounce of fear. Fear that I would find nothing but carnage on that ship. Fear that my skills at healing would be inadequate. Fear that I myself was no longer suitable as an Andalite, that I would be shunned and even punished for my wrongdoings on Earth.

But I ran across it nonetheless. And when I saw her alive, I couldn't tell if my hearts broke from sadness or burst in joy.

The medical kit was a fortunate find, a resource I was lucky to spot in a moment of such chaos and threat. The situation would have been entirely hopeless without it. I carried her as quickly as I could back to the scoop, rinsing her off in the river on the way, and went to work. Though I stopped most of her bleeding, the losses she'd already suffered forced me to work quickly and nervously. I set broken bones, I bandaged every cut and laceration I could find, and I even performed a small surgery to cinch off a hemorrhage where a rib had cracked into her stomach. Sweat beaded on my brow, and though my hands trembled at the beginning, I filled with a resolute sort of power and confidence, which I realized, even then, was not entirely mine.

Our brief encounter on the ship seemed to encourage me to work beyond my potential. I had never heard of what she'd done to me—downloading her own thoughts and memories into my mind, inviting me into her experiences. It was like a  _hirac delest_  without a computer. I stared into those deep green eyes until they rolled back into her head, and all of my fear, doubt, and guilt melted away. She was the only thing that mattered. Every mistake I'd made on Earth, every feeling of depression and unworthiness I'd been buried under could be erased through her recovery.

She and I were alone for most of it. Tobias had woken up relatively late in the morning, unaware that a ship crash had even taken place. He understood that I was working, and had attempted to keep his questions to a minimum, but this proved to be very difficult for him.

<Do you know who it is? Where she's from? Did Estrid or Gafinilan say more Andalites were coming?>

<No, Tobias, I believe this is unrelated to either of them,> I said.

<Why?>

<I've never seen this kind of ship before. It was not produced by the military or any large-scale operation. This ship was home-crafted.>

<Andalites can just build ships whenever they want?>

<With the proper training, an Andalite can do almost anything.>

_Include save the life of this girl,_  I thought to myself.

<Where do you think she came from?> Tobias asked.

<I do not know. I didn't get a chance to download the ship's computer before I destroyed it.>

A sudden spurt of blood from a large artery in her arm shifted my attention.

<You destroyed the ship's computer? What about—>

I sutured the wound quickly and with variable skill. It left an ugly, T-shaped scar.

<Tobias, I am nearly finished, may I request 20 Earth minutes to ensure her survival?>

<Yeah, sorry. I need to go eat anyway. I'll try to be fast, so I can help if you need it.>

Tobias flew away, leaving me all alone with the girl.

I worked until there was nothing more to be done. Bandages and splints and dark, runny sweat covered most of her body. I gave her a small shot of adrenaline to ensure that her primary heart kept beating. I wiped the sweat from her brow with the same rag I'd used for mine, and her eyes opened.

<You finally came,> I heard faintly from below.

<I...> I didn't know what to say. I hadn't counted on the dose of adrenaline being enough to rouse her. But she gazed up at me through narrow, sparkling slits and smiled.

<I never said it, and I don't know why,> she breathed, <but I love you.> She was unconscious again, without giving me the time to respond.

I pulled away from her in surprise and embarrassment. It was an unexpected first impression, and I was almost too shocked to regain my composure, but it gave me an opportunity to survey my work. She was a mangled mass of shards of flesh, bone, and caked, sticky blood. But she was breathing. Primary and secondary hearts still working, though the third had failed. She would not last like this. But she was alive.

The adrenaline put her in a mild state of shock. Her breathing accelerated and sweat poured out of her. The IV I had given her to ensure that she wouldn't fall victim to something as elementary as dehydration had already been depleted. I sent Tobias for water and waited alone with her.

Hours passed, each more tedious than the last. The sun set and the moon rose, and Tobias and I sat in a stiff silence. I tried to stay awake, hoping that what I had done for her would wake her up soon enough. In complete and utter exhaustion, I sank to the ground, and rested my upper body against a tree. As my buzzing flesh succumbed to exhaustion, a deep feeling of failure seeped into my hearts, and I was sure she'd never wake up again.

<State your name and designation.>

The voice was cold and hard. My right stalk eye was sticky with sleep, but the other was already open, returning to true consciousness, staring at the girl, standing straight and tall, a halo of moonlight outlining her dark, rigid face from which two black shiny eyes watched, her strange, masculine tail blade twitching eagerly over her head, holding an old and rattled Shredder directly at my brain.

She was covered in reflective blood that made the moonlight bounce off of the intersecting planes of her body. Even through the darkness, though, I could see how hurt she was. She held her left foreleg, which had been shattered in the crash, mere millimeters off the ground. Despite the splint, it almost appeared like she was capable of using it. Her chest heaved regularly through broken ribs and punctured lungs. Scars from my unpracticed healing echoed all over her body. But she stood with such grace and poise, it was she didn't care about any of it. If she had invited me to run to the Yeerk Pool now and challenge Visser Three to the death, it would take me longer than a moment to refuse.

And from her gaze, from those piercing, flat eyes, I could tell that was all that she wanted.

<You woke up,> was all I could manage to say to the monolithic figure standing before me.

<State your name and designation,> she responded with the exact intonation she had used a moment before. No more urgency, no anger. Just a cold repetition. Had she even heard what I had said? Or was she so selective that she would only hear and respond to the information she sought?

<I...you need to morph, you were injured greatly in the crash. I know morphing to heal injuries is considered undignified, but your injuries are just too many for you—>

<State your name and designation,> she repeated again.

<Aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill,> I breathed in defeat.

<Aristh Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill,> she repeated, keeping her gun poised and her tail twitching. <Where is your superior?>

<I...he...> I realized there was no concise way of explaining my situation, and the girl's eyes narrowed. <I don't have one,> I lied.

<Explain,> she ordered.

<War Prince Elfagor-Sirinial-Shamtul was my superior before our Dome Ship crash-landed on this planet. I was the sole survivor,> I said. She looked at me in suspicion. <He died,> I over-concluded.

<Yes, he did,> she agreed. I wanted to detect a hint of amusement or relief in her voice, but there was none there. She did not slacken her tail blade or Shredder. I began to worry that she actually planned to use them.

<Where are we?> She asked.

<Earth,> I gasped before thinking. Her eyes narrowed further. <North American continent, Western region. The country is the United States, the most powerful political entity on the planet. How did you find me?> I asked.

She continued staring at me with her main eyes, but her uncrippled stalk eye arched backward over her head. I followed its gaze to see Tobias directly in her line of vision. He stayed still, but the moonlight streaming through the trees provided more than ample light for her to see.

<Tobias, no!> I yelled as she whipped around with lightning speed and fired upon my  _shorm_. A bright blue light lanced from the weapon, more powerful than I could have imagined. Excess energy bled through the trees, leaving a clean, cylindrical hole in the branches which burst into flames. It phased out thousands of yards into the atmosphere, leaving a clear trail to precisely where we were situated. Tobias was nowhere to be found.

My sight was entirely devoted to scanning the branches for cascading feathers or smoke or two dead bird legs clinging to a branch, but even despite my panic, I saw her wobble a little from the exertion.

She kept her main eyes on me, aware of everything I was. That she had just given our position to anyone watching within a 5-mile radius. That she had just fired upon one of my allies and friends. That she was willing to pull that trigger on me. If she had not already given off such an impression of emotionlessness, I could have sworn I saw her smile.

<Red-tailed hawks are a diurnal species,> she explained. <Tell me who I just fired upon.>

I glared up at her, wonder and fear quickly burning into rage and betrayal. <It's all right, I'm okay. I'm going to go get the other Animorphs.> I heard Tobias say to me privately. I breathed a sigh of relief.

She noticed this gesture and corroborated: <No, I did not kill him. Now you know that I will.>

_Some companion,_ I thought. Any hope that this girl could become a trusted ally or friend ebbed away. I knew she felt threatened, and was just as alone at me, but she had just tried to kill my best friend with absolutely no basis for doing so.

I decided right then that I did not like her very much.

I continued to glare at her and she cocked her weapon and aimed it at me, preparing for another shot. <Tell me who I just fired upon,> she repeated.

<Tobias, wait,> I said to both of them. Tobias fluttered down to another branch close by.

<I didn't lie to you before,> I began. <I was the sole survivor of the  _GalaxyTree_. But my brother...I mean, I met some human youths and provided the power to morph to them. I've been fighting alongside them for over two years. I've taken the leader of the group, a boy named Jake, as my Prince.>

I breathed a sigh of relief that she did not immediately execute me upon this revelation, and watched her reaction with my stalk eyes. She seemed entirely unmoved.

<It is juvenile and unprofessional to consider an omission of truth as a form of honesty,> she said. She sheathed her weapon and turned around. She walked back into the scoop slowly, catching and throwing her weight. She bent down, and lifted the medical kit, and it swung weakly in her mangled arms. I heard a crack as one of her ribs buckled under the pressure of her stoop. She did not flinch.

<It was wise of you to take the medical kit,> she said, rifling through it slowly. <Unwise to view its contents so hastily.>

She shut the case and looked back at me with her glowing main eyes.

<How did you find me?> I repeated, speaking quietly, trying to keep the rage out of my voice.

<I do not trust you,> she stated. <I will divulge information at my discretion. You destroyed my ship, correct?>

<Yes, it was the only way—>

<Then I must settle here. You will not require the human prince any longer. Do not inform the human children of my presence here. That knowledge would only confuse their effort. I will work on my own,> she said.

<Wait, wait, wait, I don't know if I like that the other Animorphs—>

<You are not under my orders, To-bi-as,> she said, stating his name slowly. <However, I would advise that you obey them as well. Any result of a clear violation of Seerow's Kindness must be rectified. If they know I am here, I will have no choice but to kill them.>

<Like you killed me?>

<I have mounted one unsuccessful attempt to kill you. I assure you it will not be the last.>

Tobias cocked his head to the side and looked at me. <Ax, this is...>

I gazed between the girl and Tobias. I was frustrated by her ultimatums, and still recovering from the revelation that she would not be the companion I had longed for, but mostly just unsettled, that she not only attempted to convey power through such a mutilated, weak form, but that, to a degree, she succeeded. Both Tobias and the girl were staring at me, and though I saw no emotion, no impatience or fear or expectation in her eyes, I felt more of a compulsion to respond to her.

<Why can't Jake be my Prince anymore?> I asked. <He may be human, but I am devoted solely to him, and would prefer to remain as his  _aristh_.> Tobias fluffed his feathers in assent, but the girl only continued to stare.

<Andalite law dictates that marooned soldiers must ally themselves, despite all prior circumstance. I outrank you.  _I_  will be your prince.> Tobias speared his body downward, leering at her in disgust.

I didn't know what to do. I did not like her, I did not trust her, I didn't even know her, but if she outranked me, I had no choice in the matter. No visitor to Earth before had shown an interest in replacing Jake as my prince. I suppose I should have been glad that her decision implied some permanence to her presence, but I felt vaguely sure that I did not want her around anymore.

<Will you devote your honor, service, and life to me, if fate decides it is your time to diminish?> She said, beginning the bonding ritual. I scowled. I gazed up at Tobias for help, but there was nothing he could do save attack her, and as tempting as that was, it was not something I was willing to answer for later. Besides, my disdain for her was overwhelming, but it was not complete. She was still very, very beautiful.

I gazed at her uncertainly as she removed her Shredder from the holster that hung tightly across her narrow waist. Her tiny shoulders were high and tight, her back and neck perfectly straight. Her frame was small, but it supported all the raw mass and power it could. Dried blood reflected silver moonlight off of every subtle curve, every defined line. Her fingers with thin and boxy, long and too elegant to bear such a weapon of destruction. She was small for a female. Stunted almost, like the strength she bore had been cultivated too early, but somehow she seemed as big as Visser Three. Every breath she took pulled skin over her ribs, moving like ripples on a pond.

My eyes moved up her body, to her head, her long jaw supporting wide, high cheekbones, that seemed to reach through her face like some insect's mandible, her eyes settled too big and wide in between. Too open. I stared for moments, searching for that quality, that pained vulnerability that had defined her not hours ago. But there was nothing now. Just a flat, uninvested gaze, watching without caring.

My eyes looped down her back and up her tail, held high and proud, and I realized the size of her tail blade was no illusion or misperception. It curved long and dangerous, pink and shimmery, and she twitched it as though it weighed nothing. She noticed my gaze and she curled it down subtly, closer to her back.

Though she was lethal and severe, clearly made for killing, there was some essence that tied her qualities together into something attractive. Something I could not see, something that I could not name or pinpoint. Buried beneath her threatening, emotionless exterior, something forgotten and perhaps irredeemable.

<I…> I began, gazing up at Tobias guiltily. <I devote my honor, service, and life to you, if fate decides it is my time to diminish.>

<Ax?> Tobias asked. I turned my stalk eye away. I did not wish to answer him.

<Very well, then. I require information from you,  _aristh_  Aximili.>

<What is it you would like to know? Sir?>

<The Yeerk force in orbit seems substantial. I assume they have a fortified base on the surface. Where is it?>

<They have an underground Yeerk Pool.>

<I see. You will take me there,> she ordered.

<I...yes, I will. Shouldn't you morph, though? You're greatly injured, I don't know if...>

<Do not patronize me, a _risth_ ,> she warned. <Humans are the dominant species on this planet, correct? I will require human samples with which to perform the  _frolis maneuver_.>

<Okay,> I blurted, still overwhelmed with everything.

<Do not touch the medical kit again,> she said softly, unrelated. Her mind moved fast and clear, almost robotically. Like a slide projector.

<What happened to you?> I asked with a nervous laugh. <You've changed so...>

She blinked, like she wasn't prepared for that question. <Your focus is misaimed,> she said.

I shook my stalk eyes, taking the opportunity of her confusion to backtrack a little. <May I request that we converse in Form Beta? The formality of Alpha is difficult to uphold and used generally only in battles. Are we in a battle?> I asked it rhetorically, but I was truly curious.

She did not respond right away, but then she said, <Your definition is incorrect. To forgo any formalities in a war is to accept defeat.>

She kept staring at me, like there was one more thing she wanted me to bring up. I was frightened to. I thought she might kill me.

<Then why did you say that you loved me?>

A slight dilation of her eyes indicated that this was not what she was expecting. <I did not say that,> she responded, total honesty and, to my relief, a little bit of surprise and disquiet in her voice. She turned her gaze from me. <I've never used that word.>

<I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...that was inappropriate. I don't even know your name,> I confessed.

She straightened her back and sheathed her weapon. I had finally hit the question she was expecting.

<My name is Warrior Jennor-Elacable-Barees,  _aristh_. You will call me Prince.>

She finally began to morph to Hork-Bajir, leaving her broken form behind. Once morphed, she walked into the darkness of the woods and said nothing more to me.

I rose to my hooves, watching her as she went, wondering who she was and how she had changed so considerably in such a short amount of time. The promise of mystery and allure had been replaced by the promise of threat and violence. My fascination had turned to fear. I was disgusted and elated by her. I was glad she had come, and sick from the responsibility she'd unleashed on me. I didn't know what to think of her anymore.

<What a piece of work,> Tobias huffed.

<Are you going to inform the other Animorphs of her presence?>

<What do you think?> He spat. I believe he meant it as sarcasm, but I responded as if he was sincere.

<I think you should not,> I said. <She seems capable of following through on her threat to kill them.>

<She missed me, and I was right in her sights. If she wants to play that game, I think we'd be a fair match.>

I shook my head. <I ask as a favor that you allow me to handle this for now,> I said. <I do not want to put you in danger, and I feel she is my responsibility.>

Tobias scoffed. <Why?>

<Because I saved her. I unleashed this threat onto all of you. You've come to my aid more than I could ever ask. Let me deal with this. I know I can, Tobias. Please.>

Tobias glared at me with his cold hawk eyes. <If she does  _anything_  I don't like…> he began.

<Yes.>

<All right, I'll give you a couple of days. But they need to know about her, Ax. This is the kind of thing that could severely mess stuff up for us.>

It was agreement enough. I knew I'd need longer than a couple of days, but Tobias could be convinced. I felt confident I could keep her a secret.

Tobias seemed mildly curious but mostly put-off. I wanted to discuss her with him, but it appeared that he was already annoyed. I was still so confused. She had seemed so feminine, flawed, and alive for such a short amount of time, and now she was no more than a militant machine. When had that changed? And why? Perhaps there was some way to discover what had happened to her. Perhaps, someday, she'd tell me. But for now, she was my Prince. And I had no choice but to obey.


	7. Chapter Six: Jennor

Chapter Six

Jennor

Sixteen Years Earlier

I was nervous.

After two years, my primary training was complete.

And even though my father was a veteran, it was unlike anything I expected.

Every morning for the first year my father and I would gallop across the sloping landscape, ripping divots from the grass, heaving in the morning air. He ran so fast, I had to stretch my young legs to the limit, but I kept up. And he smiled.

He would leave at once when we arrived, and I would work with the man I referred to simply as Trainer.

I would step out into the middle of the training yard, surrounded by the larger boys who still hadn't quite grown accustomed to my presence. We would wait for Trainer to arrive, with his loping, exaggerated canter, and he would pace slowly in front of us, sizing us all up. And there was always a stalk eye reserved solely for me.

After some cutting sarcasm or jarring insults delivered in Form Alpha, we started with warm-ups which I usually found tedious. Sometimes he made us warm up even longer if I was particularly impatient. Then, we moved to tail-to-tail training, which was always my favorite. Despite the playful jeers he received from our classmates, Cristex had become my default partner. He was committed and honest, but sometimes, to my irritation, he went easy on me. If I was irritated, Trainer would pull me out to demonstrate a new technique on me. I got injured sometimes, but never as badly as that first day. And now I could morph, so nothing he could do to me was fatal.

Well, almost nothing.

After tail training, things opened up a little. We were often given free time to strengthen our weaknesses or receive coaching from the various specialists on staff. Sometimes, we would simply run for hours. Rarely and happily, we would shoot practice Shredders at the targets. But many times, Trainer would pull me aside and train with me one-on-one.

Even though I saw him every day and spent hours at a time with him, I never quite grew comfortable with him. He always stared at me with those dark, unfathomable eyes, judging me and thinking thoughts I could not see. I kept trying to read him, but like father, he'd found some way to block me. I could read his face and posture, but not his mind. It made me feel exposed and blind. There was always something in his gaze that sent a part of my mind into panic and alarm, sending those electric chills up my neck, but I always suppressed them. He was a good teacher, and I had become a fairly decent fighter under his guidance. And besides, if something was really wrong, Father would have noticed it and done something about it.

But even he had become a less prominent figure in my life.

There was a four-week break in between the first and second year of training. I had wanted to spend that time with my father—to show him what I had learned, to practice with him, to gain experience from a differing opinion than Trainer. But he spent very little time at home. He left before I woke up the first week, and didn't return until after I fell asleep, however much I struggled to stay awake. The second week, I made an effort to wake up before he left.

<Where are you going?> I asked from deep within the twilit scoop after pretending to be asleep one morning. I watched him through the narrow opening below the canvas awning and above ground level. He was bathed in morning sun, appearing as a menacing silhouette. He had been getting ready to leap into a gallop, but I halted him.

<Go back to sleep, Jennor,> he said, voice like stone, turning an inscrutable stalk eye around to me.

<I was wondering if I could show you—I mean, if you could show me—>

<I won't be back until late. Don't wait for me,> he said.

<Father,> I said.

<Sir, Jennor,> he corrected.

<I...>

<Yes?>

<Never mind.>

I didn't see him at all for the next two weeks.

Terenia was there, however, and she looked after me. She rubbed my shoulders and kissed my cheek, and did a strange thing where she ran my stalk eye through her fingers. She wasn't afraid to touch my hands, either. It took me a while to stop resenting her presence, but I began to like Terenia. I admired her. I couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to acclimate to a new culture, to adapt in her situation, to live all alone on a new planet, but she did so with a degree of optimism, courage and dignity. Before long, I realized that she and I had grown close. That I liked her very much. That I needed her, almost more than anything. Perhaps we were even  _shorms_.

She liked spending time with me. I told her everything I could about Andal; the things she would need to know to become a convincing Andalite. I told her the little stories and superstitions that Father had told me, I taught her common greetings and taboos. I think I bored her most of the time, but she always had more questions to ask.

In return, I was selfish enough to ask about her old life, and she was kind enough to indulge me. She told me human stories about three "bears" and some wicked burglar named "Goldilocks," an abnormal human with some genetic deformity that caused her hair to grow at an accelerated rate named "Rapunzel," and the first successful cryogenically revived human named "Snow White." Earth seemed like a strange, wonderful place, and though I knew I had no control over where the military would send me when I was finally old enough to be assigned to active duty, I couldn't help but hope that maybe I would end up on an exploratory mission to deep space, pointed toward that arm of the galaxy, with anthropologists, geologists and economists that would delight in the study of humanity.

For the second year, I mostly ran to camp alone. Terenia went with me sometimes, but she did not fly over the fields with me like Father did. At most she would trot, too tired and irritated to go any faster. Driven by excitement, I would always leap ahead, but she'd keep her pace, forcing me to wait for her to catch up.

Sometimes Father was there when I returned home, dragging mud, sweat and dust into his pristine scoop. I would upload the events of my day to him before he could hold up his hand to stop me. Mostly he shook his head at me, annoyed by my boisterous aggravation. But sometimes he smiled. Sometimes, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. When I noticed it, he would look away and make some excuse to step outside, but those were the moments I lived for.

And it had all come down to this.

I stood among a crowd of classmates, waiting for a list to be posted. A list that would probably only contain a couple of names. Maybe more. Possibly none. A list that would contain the names of those cadets lucky enough to gain admittance to the equatorial officer's training program.

It was the only chance I had to get out of the mountain range and into the flat, opulent gardens of the equator. The only chance, my father kept reminding me, to show the world what I was made of. If I didn't get in...

Well, I wouldn't worry about that. I was going to get in. Trainer had so much as informed me. A coy little smile, a sly little nod. He had pulled whatever strings he found necessary to pull. But what if he didn't pull them hard enough?

<Hey, Jennor. What's the news?> I turned a stalk eye to see the figure of Terenia cantering down to meet me on the practice lawn. I was surprised. Even though Terenia had said she was coming to wait for the results with me, I hadn't actually expected her to come.

<I don't feel well,> I informed her.

<Butterflies in your stomach? Don't worry about it. Just imagine that everyone is naked. Oh, right, they already are.>

When Terenia was nervous, she would often slip into strings of Earth idioms that my translator didn't handle very well. Most of the time I would just let them go, but this time I was curious.

<What are butterflies?>

Terenia rolled her eyes slightly, annoyed that I had chosen to ask this time. But, nonetheless, she knelt down and allowed me to press my cold hands against her temples.

Terenia and I had discovered this secret connection very early. When she thought about something while I was touching, or at least very close to her head, I could see her thoughts as she controlled them, to a much more acute degree than normal. Any series of images, emotions, ideas or memories that passed through her mind streamed directly into mine. However, no one has complete control over the flow of their thoughts, and sometimes I saw things that Terenia did not want me to see.

An image of Earth flashed in my mind's eye, like a memory I'd long forgotten. I had become accompanied to many of its facets. But this time, all I saw was a pretty garden with soft, green grass. Flowerbeds echoed around the lawn, stuffed with a wide assortment of plant life—orange and fluffy, blue and straight, yellow and elegant. All sorts of insects—yes, that's what a butterfly was—hovered over the flowers, pollinating them. Andal didn't have insects. These insects flew from flower to flower, sipping up nectar and picking up pollen that they would deposit on the next flower they landed on. Yes, a symbiotic connection, that's how the flowers reproduced. Some of the insects were yellow and fat and made buzzing noises as they flew. Others were long and narrow with four transparent wings. And then butterflies, yes, butterflies. As beautiful as the flowers they fed on, bright Earth sunlight reflected off their cripplingly large wings, covered in scales as small as dust that made beautiful, iridescent patterns. I was strangely threatened by the other insects, the...yes, the honeybees and the dragonflies. But not the butterflies. They were peaceful and harmless. And their wings fluttered when they flew.

<You get it?> Terenia asked, stopping the thought and bringing me back to Andal. <If you had a butterfly in your stomach, it would feel ticklish almost. That nervous feeling.>

<I think I know what you mean,> I lied. Having never studied humans, or been one myself, I could not imagine the feeling she was describing. Andalites feel nervous in their shins and shoulders, not in their stomach. And right now, my shins and shoulders were tingling tortuously.

Terenia laughed half-consciously. <When do you find out if you got in or not?> She asked.

<Within minutes,> I said. I wrung my hands together nervously and distracted myself by remembering that any opportunity to warm them without looking too conspicuous was good. They were almost warm enough to touch someone without suspicion. I smiled at my own ingenuity.

<Nervous?> Another voice behind me. I turned a stalk eye and saw Cristex, smiling warmly.

I smiled back at him. <No. I don't know. Yes,> I said, wringing my hands extra tightly.

<Don't be. I know how much Tuxebi has taken a liking to you,> he said with a strange, indiscernible tone. One of his stalk eyes wandered over to where Trainer was standing. He was watching me through gleeful, narrowed eyes.

<Are you nervous?> I asked out of politeness. Cristex wasn't a very strong fighter, and even when he was training seriously with me I found him nothing of a challenge.

<No. It is clear that I was not accepted. I never really desired to be, either. There is a fair amount of prestige that goes along with it, but I still wish to become a doctor. I've been accepted to a medical apprenticeship program not too far from here. I think I'll start there for the new term.>

<Congratulations,> I said with a bright, sincere smile. I was pleased and a little jealous that Cristex already knew he was getting what he wanted. But I supposed my time was short. He bowed his stalk eyes to disengage from me and began walking toward the administrative scoops.

<Who is that?> Terenia asked me privately.

<He's just one of the boys in my class,> I explained. <Why do you ask?>

<No reason,> she said, sliding her eyes up and down him.

My shoulders and shins suddenly burst in electric burrs, adrenaline pounding through me, and I roved my stalk eyes to find the cause. A man was making his way to the middle of the training ground, holding a small computer that doubtlessly contained the names of the students admitted. In a flurry of nerves, the young men all around me suddenly swarmed him.

I had expected as much, but hoped that perhaps I would see the messenger before any of them did. Terenia had distracted me, and she knew that, and touched my shoulder and smiled apologetically.

I waited as patiently as my shins and shoulders would allow. One by one, the boys went up to the list and ran their fingers down it, drooping their stalk eyes and tails and walking dejectedly away, allowing another to fill their place. I waited at the end, not because I didn't think I could butt my way in, but because I was afraid how ferociously my impatience would overtake me.

After what felt like hours, with Terenia's hand still firmly planted on my shoulder, it was my turn to check.

There was only one name on the list.

And it was not mine.

It felt like a blow to the temple. My shins and shoulders were bathed in ice, my tail and stalk eyes fell toward the ground. I was shocked. Already I was trying to think of ways to appeal it, to move forward despite this verdict. I was in denial. But then the reality became clear. And I felt betrayed.

Trainer had lied to me.

<I'm…Jennor, I'm really—>

<Congratulations,  _aristh_  Jennor-Elacable-Barees,> a cold, smooth voice sounded in my head. I turned a flaccid stalk eye to see Trainer standing behind me, black-blue eyes smiling strangely. He had approached me silently. I had not seen him coming. <Your father can call you "little  _aristh_ " now in all sincerity, no?>

<But, sir,> I said, turning my other stalk eye back to the list. Trainer chuckled in his silent, smug way.

<I would not lie to you, Jennor. I assure you that you were accepted, regardless of what that list says.> My shock turned to confusion. I gazed back at Terenia, who was watching Trainer through narrowed eyes, arms settled hard across each other.

<Why wasn't my name on the list?> I asked.

<Internal politics, Jennor. Boring adult stuff. Just trust your Prince, no?>

Trainer handed me a small computer drive with the military's official seal on it. <Your acceptance notification,> he said. <Take it home, read it at your leisure. I will see you back here in two days, no?> He smiled and touched my shoulder, holding me for a second too long. Then he let go, nodded to Terenia, and sauntered away.

<You will be a War-Prince in no time at all. I can see it now,> he said as he walked. <A few years at Officer's Training, and then your very own Dome Ship. My finest pupil, no?>

<God, he gives me the creeps,> Terenia shuddered. <Why wouldn't your name be on that list if you were accepted? You're not training with him, right? I mean, he's not going with you, is he?>

<Oh, no no, I don't think so,> I said, though I realized I wasn't sure. He had said "my finest pupil" as though our time together wasn't over. I felt a cold shiver run up my neck again, and shook it off.

There was nothing more to be done at the training camp, except retrieve some paperwork that needed my father's signature. I received dubious glances from the young cadets working office detail, but they handed me the paperwork and eyed Terenia peculiarly. She smiled back at them.

The computer drive informed me that I would need to return to camp in two days. Terenia and I had no choice but to return home.

I galloped out of the training camp like the impatient child I was, longing to tell my father the good news, despite the nagging feeling in the back of my mind. Terenia took the subtle hint and decided for once to keep up with me.

We tore across the sunny landscape, both the elder and younger suns shining, unopposed by cloud or atmosphere. I breathed out my uncertainty and felt free air on my skin for once. For today, I did not have to worry about performance, grades, fear, death, or fighting. I could run through the hilly slopes like an Andalite should. Eating grass, filtering moisture from the damp earth, absorbing weightless sunlight. For today, I was an Andalite, not an  _aristh_.

I closed my eyes as I ran and breathed the fragrant air. I could tell where I was going just by the changing shape of the landscape. <Don't do that, you could hit something!> Terenia yelled, breathing hard. I opened a squinting stalk eye in her direction and laughed.

Soon we reached the height of the peak that rose above our scoop. I looked down, surprised to see Father standing within it. His arms were crossed out in front of him. I couldn't see him very well, but I could tell he was upset. For a moment I considered avoiding him, waiting until his mood softened to deliver the good news. I could only surprise him once. I wanted it to count.

But Terenia came up behind me, breathing loudly and slapping me hard on the shoulder. While I normally found her touch comforting, I was suddenly infuriated that she broke my thought. I rolled my shoulder to remove her hand. I looked down, and both of my father's stalk eyes were looking up at me.

I scowled at Terenia who raised her hands in a gesture of innocence. Father didn't say anything to me, even though I was within spatial limits of his thought-speech. I slowly approached him, making my way down the hill.

He kept watching me as I approached, curious but uninvested. He stood within the shadows of the scoop, and light filtering through hit the contours of his face hard, outlining the stark angles of his skull.

<You came back soon,> he noticed.

<You were gone when I left. I didn't think I'd see you until tonight,> I said. I realized I was defending myself. He hadn't accused me of anything.

<I want to know if you got in or not,> he said simply, taking slow, cautious steps towards me. He unfolded his arms and reached his warm hands towards mine. I was wearing the holster he had given me. I always did. He didn't let me take the Shredder. He said I was too young. I wanted to. I didn't feel like a complete warrior without it.

His fingertips, callused and veined with age, were mere inches from my own.

<I did,> I said, more calmly than I felt. He pulled his hands away.

<Good,> he said with a heavy sigh. <That is very good, Jennor.  _Aristh_.> For the first time in a long time, I heard emotion in his voice. Mostly…relief. But also, for some unclear reason, a sliver of disappointment.

Terenia had followed me down. She stayed out of the scoop, watching us both carefully. She looked suddenly upset.

<That is good news,> he repeated, voice becoming solemn and emotionless. He turned around and grabbed my Shredder. He handed it to me.

<This is officially yours, then,> he said. <Treat it well,  _aristh_.>

<Yes, sir,> I said, running my fingers over its dented surface.

<You son of a bitch,> Terenia suddenly said behind me. She stepped into the scoop, fists balled strangely. Father and I both watched her advance. I thought she might punch us. I had discovered what punching was by touching her temples. She hadn't meant to show me.

<What did you call me?> Father asked. He wasn't threatening. Just curious. I didn't know what it meant, but I knew it was a bad thing to say on Earth. And even though she hadn't really said anything, I knew exactly what she was doing. And I thought of about four ways to stop her.

But I didn't.

<I said you're a son of a bitch,> Terenia repeated, clarifying nothing. <Do you want to know why I called you a son of a bitch?>

<I suppose—>

<I called you a son of a bitch because of how you treat her,> Terenia said, pointing a rigid finger straight at me. Father looked at me with accusation in his eyes. I did nothing but gaze back.

<How is it that I treat her?> My father asked, now amused.

<You've brainwashed her into thinking that she needs to kill herself to get you to love her.>

<Love her,> my father repeated indiscernibly with a laugh. This snapped me out of my inaction, and I began to move toward Terenia.

<What four-year-old girl wants to be a warrior?> Terenia asked.

<Stop, Terenia,> I said, stepping in between her and my father. She grabbed one of my shoulders with both hands and pushed me out of the way. I hadn't expected this. I stumbled over gracelessly and fell to the ground.

<A near-mute, near- _vecol_  criticizing my parenting technique? Your stupidity gives you bravery, ignorant human,> my father said, stepping toward Terenia. I kicked out my legs and tried to get up.

<What parenting? You're never here. You never talk to her. You don't do anything but mope and leave! I look after her!> Terenia countered. My father laughed.

<A primitive human as the expert on Andalite child-rearing—>

<Can't you even see the damage you've done to—>

They both continued arguing, thought-speech melding together like white noise, while I finally pulled myself to my hooves.

I backed away and watched them. Terenia was getting irate, but my father remained composed. She threw her hands up in anger, a gesture I could only assume was human, because no Andalite behaves that way. Finally, though, he smiled. And she stopped yelling.

<—for you are nothing but a wounded child yourself. All you women are alike, you think you can change a man's behavior and beliefs.>

My father walked out of the scoop slowly. Terenia glared at him as he walked around her.

<Do you even  _want_  to see her again?> Terenia asked.

Father stopped next to me and gazed downward. I looked up into his eyes. For a brief, wonderful moment, they were smiling.

<I want what she wants,> he explained. <I want her to be the greatest warrior that the galaxy has ever seen.>

I smiled up at him, and he kissed my face. It left me unsatisfied. I turned a stalk eye to Terenia. She was infuriated. Father walked out of the scoop and ran, rising over and under the shallow hills like a boat bobbing in water. I watched him as he flew.

<Why did you do that?> I asked slowly, watching Terenia with my stalk eyes. She rubbed the back of her neck in another futile human gesture.

<I was just trying to look out for you, Jennor,> Terenia sighed.

<You do look out for me,> I said. <But you just betrayed me.>

Terenia frowned. <Is that what you really think?>

<I don't know how it works on Earth, but here you're not allowed to accuse people whenever the desire strikes,> I said softly. <Especially falsely.>

(I still don't think—)

<Stop thinking, please. It does you no good,> I said, looking in her main eyes. She was very sad. I felt the cool stab of guilt. <Is this just about you wanting me to stay?> I asked.

<Jennor...that is a big part of it, I will admit. I mean, who will talk to me when you leave? But it's more than—>

<It's only two years, Terenia,> I said. <Remember how fast these last two went?>

<Jennor, don't kill yourself just to get him to love you,> Terenia finally shouted, defiantly. <It's not worth it. Believe me.>

I sighed. I was angry, but I was also tired. I didn't want to deal with her right now.

I didn't say anything more to her, and left in a fashion similar to my father. But before I started running, I looked back at her and smiled.

Two days later, it was finally time for me to leave. I had spent those two days charged with excitement and nervousness. So much was about to happen to me—I was going to fly in my first space vessel, I was going to visit the equator, where all the rich and privileged lived. I was going to be a warrior soon, and then? Maybe a Prince. Maybe even a War-Prince. There was nothing stopping my potential. I could be anything.

Father chose not to walk me to the training camp.

<I am required to rendezvous with you in two weeks,> he promised in a harsh voice. Then he softened. <I want to make sure you'll settle in okay. But for now—>

<Errands?> I asked. That's what he said he was always doing.

He smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek one last time. <You'll fit in perfectly, Jennor. You have my faith entirely.> I thought I felt my primary heart churn and grumble, but I knew I was not that weak.

Terenia walked behind me when we left. She seemed sad, and was very pale for some reason. I decided not to ask her about it. I wasn't angry at her anymore, but she had been acting much differently towards me since she confronted my father. I didn't understand the reason behind her actions, and I did not understand what consequences she thought they'd earned.

We arrived at training camp early in the morning. The other boy who had been accepted was already there. I did not recognize him from any training group that had just graduated. He was tall and strong and much older than the boys I had been training with.

<He's going to officer's training?> I asked no one in particular.

<Welcome,  _aristh_ ,> a familiar and frightening voice rang out. Trainer was half-engaged with a handheld communicator, watching me with the one stalk eye he always reserved for me. <That is no  _aristh_. Rexxir is already a warrior.>

<Rexxir? But his name was on the list, the list said he was going…> I protested. Terenia stood close behind me as Trainer approached.

<Don't worry about a thing, Jennor. We'll be leaving soon,> he said. His dark eyes turned toward Terenia. <Is the nanny tagging along?>

<It's all right, Terenia,> I said. <You can go home now.>

Terenia walked over to me, glaring at Trainer with her stalk eyes.

<If it gets too hard, or too scary, it's okay to come home,> Terenia said. <I'll still be here. I'll see you again, okay? I promise.>

<It won't be too hard or scary,> I said, wondering why she was being so condescending. I kissed her cheek, and she thought of my favorite Earth image—a beautiful girl with long, red hair, holding a human infant in her hands above her head, swinging it around carelessly and lovingly while the infant opened its pink, crooked mouth, screaming laughter.

<I love you, Jennor,> Terenia said suddenly. The words surprised me, and I wasn't sure how to respond. But somehow, without really meaning to, I said, <I love you, too.> She wrapped her arms around me in a strange human gesture—a hug—but I did not pull away. I felt a stab of something weak and sad in my main heart. It was just then that I realized how much I would miss her.

Tuxebi came over and grabbed my upper arm hard. Terenia released the hug.

<You're taking her?> she demanded.

<Don't worry, nanny, I'll just be driving. She'll have a new trainer when she arrives at the camp. Isn't that right, Bilven?>

Trainer turned a stalk eye to look at another trainer who was loading the other transport with Rexxir. He and Bilven exchanged a strange, guilty look and nodded.

Terenia slumped while Trainer loaded me onto the ship. I had the only thing I would need—my holster and my Shredder—and everything else would be taken care of for me.

<Are you ready, Jennor?> Trainer asked. I looked out the hatch at Terenia, who would not leave. I waved at her, and she managed one final smile.

<Yes, sir,> I answered. I breathed deeply, preparing to take off. Trainer closed the hatch and glanced at me before heading over to the control panel.

It was a while before we took off. Trainer kept whispering to Bilven on the communicator, a large flat screen in the middle of the control panel that he'd plugged his portable one into. I had a little time to inspect the ship before take-off. From what I could tell, it was an older model with two quarters behind the bridge. Two small engines were on either side of each private bunk. I hoped the exhaust ports functioned optimally, or else it was going to get hot. There didn't seem to be good compensation and life support systems. No holographic imagery of the homeworld, no running water save a small, stagnant pool just under the control panel. The panel and walls were white and smooth, and dry grass lined the floor. Overall, it was uncomfortable but manageable.

Soon I felt the engines roar to life, and the ship hovered off the ground.

It didn't take us long to leave atmosphere. I looked down at Andal, expecting it to bend beneath me like a rapid, spinning conveyor belt while we rode just out of the atmosphere to the equator. But we didn't bend. The purple sheen of the grass became less and less pronounced as we flew farther away. I could see the shape of the mountains converge from single monoliths to a massive, veiny range as we got ascended higher and higher. I spotted my favorite mountain shaped like a tail blade, but soon it seemed smaller than a claw.

<Why are we flying so far away?> I asked Trainer. <Shouldn't we have turned—>

I was preoccupied with the beauty of my first space flight. With excitement, fear, and my own selfish desire to succeed. I felt a tug at my holster and I looked up at him. He was holding my Shredder.

<You worry so much,  _aristh_ ,> he said as he raised the Shredder high over his head and brought it down hard over my skull. I tried to block it with my tail, but I was too slow. I didn't feel its impact, but I did feel myself crumple into an unconscious mass of flesh just as we made the jump to Zero Space.


	8. Chapter Seven: The Empress

Chapter Seven 

The Empress

It had taken two years.

One year to locate and apprehend an Andalite vessel.

Months to invent and perfect the technology to dupe Andal's penetrating, sensitive scanners. A task that, under normal circumstances, would be impossible, but the arrogant Andalites thankfully programmed them to alert only for a full-scale attack. One tiny fighter in all of that space might go unnoticed. It would be like finding a single, intrusive grain of sand in an hourglass. The Andalites' tool of choice seemed to be the vacuum cleaner, instead of the pair of tweezers they required.

Weeks to memorize the proper procedures and learn conversational Andalite dialects so as not to appear too suspicious while we cruised down to the surface of the purple, double-crowned planet.

Days of hard work on my part, consisting of twenty-hour shifts and aggressive, exhausting torture sessions, employing my professional skills on my first ever Andalite captive, to collect access codes to get us through the twenty-leveled shield that protected the Andalite solar system.

Another act of arrogance. Typical of the Andalites to expend manned resourced parked outside our beloved homeworld rather than to use those warriors to protect their own civilians. The shields were no joke, of course. Twenty bulbous, concentric spheres, carefully avoiding natural heavenly bodies that those hypocritically sentimental fools adored, surrounded the system for lightyears, each requiring a different code to penetrate. The code would enact a pre-routed jump through Zero-Space to the next rendezvous gate. I did not want to imagine how much energy the Andalites expended, keeping those routes from shifting.

If the code was not provided correctly, a signal would pluck the closest Dome Ship from Zero-Space to combat the intruder and approximate the required oppositional force. A ridiculous security system, but it had to be efficient somehow. Maybe the efficiency lay in carelessness. Maybe they were so arrogant they really thought we would never attempt to break through.

All of that, and two years wondering how the hell we were going to get out of there once we had her.

I admit I procrastinated for a while. For two weeks, I chose to ignore the task I was set with, instead continuing my work in intelligence, conducting droll and useless meetings with the Council, standing on the Bridge of my ship with nothing but the child on my mind. I couldn't stop thinking about her. Wondering what secret power she possessed that could possibly make her so dangerous. Wondering how I would deal with the guilt associated with murdering a child.

But this thought made me smile. If there's one thing a Yeerk is good at, it's dealing with guilt.

Talking to Nagrit eased my tensions. He understood my misgivings, empathizing with equal parts needling that the job needed to get done. But he wasn't what finally made me start.

I did not sleep at all for those two weeks.

I hung in my Hork-Bajir harness, yes, but staring into the darkness in my quarters offered no respite. Since the acknowledgment of my task, I'd felt a strange and foreign stress in the pit of my stomach. Not the usual nerves, the usual self-convincing sureness of failure, the usual low self-esteem and worry. This was something different. Something alive. Something that squirmed and reacted, moved and breathed. Something I could not quell, something that seemed to speak to me.

 _Stop wasting time_ , it said.  _Start your work._

So finally, one day, while running my claw through the same nervous divot I made in the control panel on the Bridge, I clicked open Jennor-Elacable-Barees' file.

And suddenly I understood.

It was like, for a moment, the thick veil of the universe that surrounded all its energy and gave it shape was lifted, like I could see through the deception of flesh and form and understand my nemesis on the deepest possible level. She was light. Just a fiery orb of light, burning and bursting forth and turning back in on herself, like an overactive sun. A sun that was at terrible risk of going supernova, I could see, at the most destructive time possible. And though the energy that her flesh encapsulated was dangerous, it was still very, very extinguishable.

She was not a child. She gave the impression of innocence, but now I had seen the power that festered behind her eyes. She was a merciless, deadly villain. Her infantile stature, brightly smiling stalk eyes, and soft, naïve expression were all a ruse. She stood tall and proud, in that child's body, a cunning and wonderful actress hiding her incredible talent behind a convincing costume. There was no doubt. There was nothing gray or deplorable about the situation. She would destroy the Empire. I was more certain of that fact than anything.

And I began my work.

We had to purchase an old Andalite fighter off the Skrit Na, a group I detest working with. Money was no issue, but they kept finding excuses to keep it from us. They needed to clean it, to purge the computers, to replace the tractor beam. When I asked when it would be ready, they hesitated. For a moment, I thought perhaps they understood the depth and danger of the situation, the position of terror and gravity they had put themselves in. Sell the Yeerks an Andalite fighter, and the Andalites will destroy you. Go back on a deal with a Yeerk...

If only we could infest them and be done with it.

But we got our fighter, after I conversationally reminded them that our Dracon cannons could bisect their largest space station in less than five minutes.

I had never been inside an Andalite ship before. Though I was born before the start of the war, I didn't receive my first host until after we'd already engineered our own ships from the Andalites' gifts. The Skrit Na had replaced the meshy, grass-covered floor with alloy plating, but the ship still reeked of rotten plants and stale sweat. I choked back my disgust and breathed through my mouth.

No matter how civilized and advanced the Andalites considered themselves, they failed to realize that they still lived as livestock. Grazing, herding, feral beasts, sheathed in malodorous bodily fluid, traipsing in their own organic waste. They nauseated me.

The ship was a great success, but Nagrit and I were careful in our planning, tempered in our self-congratulations, and considered every contingency. The access codes to penetrate the shields surrounding Andal were the hardest to come by. Capturing our Andalite prisoner was another stroke of good luck. He was on a solo survey mission, and had crashed into an asteroid in a neutral zone. He lived on his grounded, damaged ship. Subduing him was too easy. Every system of his we needed to be inoperable was inoperable. His tail had snapped in the crash, and he didn't even have a Shredder to commit suicide with.

Regrettably, after I finished torturing him for the access codes, he expired, which made the Council uneasy. It also made them uneasy that torture was necessary in the first place.

He could not be infested.

We tried fourteen different Yeerks. All from different pools, all exhibiting different traits. Each had crawled into his ear canal like normal. Thrashing like a bronco, the Andalite would calm for a moment, but only a moment. Then the Yeerk crawled back out, falling to the ground with a wet, dead smack.

I did not understand it. It frightened me. An Andalite had already been successfully infested. What was different about this particular specimen? Was it some genetic mutation, a caustic acidity level in the brain, or insufficient auditory canal diameter? I allowed the corpse of the Andalite to be autopsied. No scientific answer returned.

But the task at hand relinquished my need to worry about that. We had gotten what we needed from him, even though he failed giving us what we wanted. And soon, Nagrit and I, each in our Hork-Bajir forms, prepared to take our Andalite fighter fitted with the most state-of-the-art cloaking and undercover technologies, and depart for the Andalite Homeworld.

"Are you sure that you are required to perform this task yourself? I can get you the best Taxxon pilot in hours, perfectly—"

"No," I said with force but understanding. I was busy recalibrating the engines, still trying to optimize our exhaust ports, unwilling to sacrifice sufficient amounts of trace elements that would indicate where the fuel had been processed. "Thank you, Sub-Visser. This is my mission. I am required, both by my own integrity and the powers that be, to perform it myself."

"The council feels it is unnecessary for you to perform this task. Anyone can learn what we have learned about the girl. We even employ experts in the field of Andalite culture. Visser Three—"

"You know better than to mention Esplin to me. He's not doing this."

"No, that would be impractical. They know what he looks like," Nagrit said. It was true. News of the first Andalite host had spread in the Electorate. Pictures of Esplin's face labeled "enemy number one" had been posted everywhere on their intelligence grid. One of the most practical applications of having an Andalite host—the ability to perform espionage and gain classified intelligence—was null and void. It made me hate him even more.

I gazed over at Nagrit. If I had been in any other form, I wouldn't have noticed, but I saw genuine concern in his eyes. The inconvenient sexual spark that existed between his male host and my own suddenly flared. I quieted it. Turned back to my engine repair, and focused on keeping sweat from beading on my forehead.

"This mission has a high chance of failure, sir. It's never been attempted, never even dreamed before. There is enough risk involved as it stands. Why add to the risk by sending the most important Yeerk in the Empire? Why risk the chaos, the threats to internal security that would occur in the event of your death?"

His eyes locked with mine. He was right. But his logic was not entirely cold.

"We will not fail," I said.

"But if we fail—"

"We will not fail." Nagrit sighed and decided to give up.

Even of this, I was sure. I wondered how we would return from the Andalite homeworld, but I did not worry about it. Nagrit had come to the same question, and though I hated the word, I told him just to have faith. Faith that we would return alive, with the most valuable prize in the galaxy. Faith that the doors we'd opened would not shut once we were inside.

Unfortunately, that word alone was not enough for the Council.

I stood in front of them all, wrist blades exposed in rage. They had voted, nearly unanimously, to send one of the pilots that Nagrit had suggested. I hated that they had arbitrarily taken over the first project that I'd been assigned by that vague, enigmatic, extra-galactic power. I hated even more that Nagrit had gone behind my back to get them to do so.

"I assure you, this will not end badly. The only way it will end badly if it is not I who goes. I am required—"

"Who requires you?" Garoff 315, a Hork-Bajir, asked. "Vague whispers from deep space? An unidentified deity figure who commands our puny little army without ever having introduced himself? Don't tell me you actually believe in the will of this higher power, Councilor Eight."

I sighed deeply. I didn't believe in it. But I needed to continue pretending, just to defend to my argument.

"I've already completed all the preparations. If I do not perform this mission soon, I know that the opportunity will vanish."

"How do you know that?" Sessil, the sole human controller, scoffed. "Because an oracle told you so? Dreams and visions and prophecies, coming from the commander who champions herself the most rational leader in the history of the Empire!"

Loud, brash laughter came from much of the Council. I fumed, hating how good Sessil was at unapologetic, overt hypocrisy. I looked over at Nagrit, who was hunched against the door in guilt and disappointment.

"You're absolutely correct, Councilor. A rational leader would heed her advisors and perhaps even accept their terms. But a rational leader would also make sure that her perspective is understood just as well," I said.

"Then explain it," Stebbis 521, a Taxxon Councilor, hissed.

I hesitated, collecting my thoughts, and suddenly realized I couldn't. I couldn't explain the sense of dread I felt picturing anyone but myself completing this mission. I couldn't explain unfathomable dreams and nightmares that had plagued what little sleep I had gotten since this whole mission began. And I couldn't explain that strange feeling of nervousness, that bundled up, twisting, snake-like pile of rope in my stomach, completely autonomous from my own fear, completely alive. It spoke to me, and I listened. It delivered orders, and I carried them out. And there was no way I could explain it.

My hesitation lasted long enough for interruption. "Very well, then," Sessil said. "We will send a Taxxon pilot with two experts in the field of Andalite culture. Visser Three will consult on the project."

I let out an uncontrolled scoff. As if this situation could get any worse.

"Is there a problem, Councilor Eight?"

"Whatever the Council decides," I said, leaving my meaning ambiguous.

I marched to the Bridge, thinking only about the small divot in the control panel my claws had made. I'd never felt rage like this burn within my Hork-Bajir form. I wanted to impale every single host I passed in the hallways. I wanted to cut a random Taxxon and watch as every other Taxxon host within 50 feet came running. I wanted to spill blood, to unleash chaos, to beget hell.

But all I had was that one little divot.

Nagrit trailed behind me, aware of my fury for him. He said nothing, and allowed my anger for three days. Until my next feeding cycle. Then he spoke to me.

"It will take about six weeks for the pilot and Andalite anthropologists to get ready," he said.

"Make sure they memorize what she looks like," I said. "Make sure they get it right."

"They'll get it right, sir. How could they get it wrong?"

I felt the pile of rope tighten and contort at this question.

I waited the six weeks, sleep dwindling down to nothing. I distracted myself with a pair of rogue Taxxons who had expressed sympathy for the freedom movement on the Taxxon homeworld. They were a pair of lovers that I had actually compelled to eat each other. I was particularly proud of that.

Soon it was time for the old Andalite fighter to depart. I found myself worrying about every iota of work I had put into this. Had I been too quick to accept the access codes we had received from the Andalite prisoner? I knew torture wasn't an effective means of interrogation, so why did I believe him? Were the Skrit Na secretly working with the Andalites? Had they sabotaged everything on the ship? Would it even fly?

But the ship did fly. It flew, and it stayed in contact with us until it reached the first level of the shield, 40 light years from the planet itself. In that time, Visser Three reviewed protocol with the Taxxon and the Hork-Bajir. The fake Andalite pilot we had created through careful artistry in holographic form was impeccable. The thought-speech transmitter we had installed into the better of the two anthropologists was flawless. Visser Three said that he himself was convinced, and Alloran had been a very experienced warrior.

But I couldn't sit still. I couldn't do anything but imagine every step in the process where something could go wrong. I was sure, once they broke contact, that they had been killed. Whenever my communicator beeped or barked, it took every ounce of willpower to answer it, since I was so sure it was a message of mission failure. But I kept finding ways to convince myself to keep faith. And when I did, for a moment, the snake would purr in assent.

We had only to wait now, until my ship returned to the massive armada we'd formed, parked just outside the range of the scanners of the farthest Andalite shield. Close enough to catch them if they could get away, far enough to keep any attention from ourselves, which was difficult, considering we had two Pool ships, thirteen Blade Ships, and enough Bug Fighters to appear as one giant, liquid, moving entity. Impractical, yes, but very intimidating. We hid inside a nebula. They would be fools to engage us if we simply turned around and left.

The whole process only took six hours. Though there were twenty gates to penetrate, it appeared the Andalites were efficient in the process of permitting entrance. Negligent is probably a better word, considering what it was they were letting through. But six hours after my team left, alarms began to blare and our scanners detected my ship, scarred with Shredder fire, blasting its way backwards through the useless, one-way mirror Andalite shields. I took my Blade Ship out front and, like a mother lion protecting her cub, allowed the single fighter to dock. An off-white, aesthetically curved armada worthy of such an advanced, nervous race flew to intercept us, but stopped once we were scanned. Neither group moved, so I signaled the farthest Pool ship to break formation and turn around. The Bug Fighters, Blade Ships, and remaining Pool Ship followed suit. I was the last to leave.

Though there was no movement or expression in the fleet, I could tell they were confused. Why had we Yeerks come all the way here, broken through their defenses, just to kidnap who, by now, they probably knew to be a single Andalite girl? Would they investigate from their end? Would they try and discover who she was, and attempt to retrieve her?

I didn't know. I knew we would do a better job of protecting her than they did. But we wouldn't need to protect her for long.

I couldn't help but feel the thrill of success as Nagrit and I scuttled through the halls, up and down dropshafts, thrashing our tails from side to side like adolescents. I'd just done the impossible. I'd just invaded the Andalite homeworld. No, it had not been a full-scale assault, but at the very least I'd asserted the threat that we still presented to the Andalites. I loved quashing their pride. And I regretted not seeing the looks on their collective faces, not relishing in that grim acknowledgment of our power.

Nagrit and I hustled inside the docking bay. The ship was still cooling off, emitting that sinking, dry ice, blue-tinged steam. One of the Hork-Bajir had already disembarked and looked nervous. Visser Three had managed to stay in contact and was watching the events unfold from a viewscreen.

"Well? Where is she? I want to meet her. I've spent two years getting her here, let me see her."

"Sir, we have, um..." the Hork-Bajir seemed at a loss for words. I felt the ropes tighten in my stomach, and my bowels felt the effects. I looked at Nagrit, whose excitement was waxing.

"Did you retrieve the Andalite girl?" I asked.

"Yes, we retrieved an Andalite girl." The subtle article change did not escape me, but I chose to wait until I had more information before accusing him of anything.

"Then let me meet her."

I went inside the putrid Andalite ship without permission, which I did not need. I forgot that sometimes. The Taxxon pilot was binding a stinking, bucking Andalite form with energy ropes. He had managed to staple her tail to the wall of the ship, the heat from the ropes burning raw, bloody little lines across it, and I saw her tail blade twitching desperately, small and pink and lovely.

I walked in further. The girl had balled her hands into fists and flung them desperately at the Taxxon, causing strange popping sounds against his shell when she hit him. Her hooves, slightly more dangerous, sought to impale him, but lying on the ground as she was, her angles of attack were negligible.

I stood before her, just behind the Taxxon, waiting patiently for him to finish. Suddenly, she yelled.

<Who the hell are you? What the fuck is going on?!> I was mildly shocked for a moment, not that she spoke, but that she had taken so long to. The coarseness of her language also unsettled me. Swearing did not seem like an Andalite characteristic.

"You are mine, Jennor-Elacable-Barees, and now I intend to kill you."

She stopped thrashing and suddenly looked up at me. <Jennor? You want Jennor?>

The rope suddenly untangled and melted with a sickening splash in the pit of my stomach.

<I mean, uh...yeah! I'm Jennor! What do you want with me?!>

As soon as sudden, crippling fear washed through me, the deep, burning rage returned and flared like a nuclear blast. I pushed the Taxxon aside and grabbed the roving mass of his jelly eyes. I pulled them out and shoved them down his throat and he screamed in his high-pitched, reverberating voice.

I exited the ship and looked at the Hork-Bajir anthropologist. He threw his hands up in surrender. I ripped a Dracon beam from a guard and shot him in the head. It disappeared, leaving a cloud of green, emulsified blood, and he fell to his knees and toppled over, jerking away the last bits of life trapped in his limbs. Even in my rage, I realized that worse than committing murder, I had just contradicted one of my most precious tenets of leadership.

But I could not stand betrayal. And I'd been betrayed by all of them.

I glanced over at Visser Three, who looked at me pleadingly. <They got back, my job was completed satisfactorily, please let me—>

I shut him off. I didn't want to hear incessant pleading yet, because I knew that's all I would be hearing for some time.

I went back inside the ship. The girl's eyes traveled between me and the remaining Hork-Bajir frantically. He looked up at me with a strange, passive calm.

"Tell me what happened," I demanded of him.

"We arrived at the coordinates you set for us, from her personnel file. We scanned for female Andalites. There was only one within the target radius. So we took her."

"What about the training ground? You knew about the training ground." I spoke slowly, through clenched teeth, making sure I was understood.

"We scanned the training ground. It was empty. There were no females anywhere around it."

"And the area between the training ground and her scoop, you scanned that as well?"

"There was only one possible target, sir. And that target was acquired."

He gestured to the squirming girl. Even without any prior knowledge of Andalite biology, I knew she was too old. She was no child. She could bear children.

"Have you debriefed her?" I asked absent-mindedly.

"We chose not to engage the target in conversation—"

"I mean, have you infested her? She indicated that she knows Jennor. Maybe she knows where she is so we can return and retrieve her."

"After this escapade I do not believe it will be possible to return to the surface of the Andalite world," the Hork-Bajir honestly appraised with more courage than I could imagine. I smiled at him and shook my head.

"You didn't infest her, then?"

"No, sir."

"Very well. Go get someone to restrain my host."

"You'll do it?"

"I should get to do something, shouldn't I?"

He walked around me and within seconds, there were three Hork-Bajir holding my host—two on either arm, and one with his wrist blade pressed deeply within my neck. Another two Hork-Bajir unbound the girl from the wall, holding her tail carefully, lifting her and holding her tightly, rebinding her legs and arms with the energy rope. I didn't tell them to be careful, and some of their blades sunk into her soft flesh. I wasn't thinking. I was too angry to think.

With her ear against mine, I released control of my host of ten years and traveled into the mind of the helpless, frightened girl.

Everything that hit me was a surprise.

The girl wasn't frightened at all. She was angry. I calmed her adrenal glands, slowed her pulse, and stopped production of sweat. I took control of the wonderful tail blade, flexing those steel muscles like I was born with them.

But then I realized that she wasn't.

The girl wasn't an Andalite. The wounds she had acquired in the transport could not be morphed away. She was a  _nothlit_ : a poor, human girl who'd found herself caught at the wrong place and time once too many. I only momentarily mourned the inability to morph. I quickly reviewed the events that made her into an Andalite. I became lost in the story, trailing lines of logic that ended in strange places—her birthplace, her mother, the planet called Earth. The Andalite mind was disorganized but efficient. Nothing was linear or chronological, but it all made sense. I don't know how long I looked. I traveled through a history of abuse, fear, and anger, a life without love or comfort. I grew to understand a character who'd summoned courage from nothing to run away and try again. The girl had a sad, hopeful past.

But suddenly I stopped traveling those streams. There was more important information I required.

I did not allow myself to return to reality yet. I knew those Hork-Bajir were probably having problems with my host. Or maybe not. I had been her Yeerk for so long that perhaps she didn't even notice I had left. She hadn't really resisted in years. She had become such a part of me, and perhaps that meant that I was more her than she was.

But this girl was much different. It had been so long since I'd had a new host. Memories reach out and slap you like a cold splash of water. Everything is foreign and unexpected. I knew my Hork-Bajir host—what she wanted, what she feared, what she blamed, what she loved. Terenia was a stranger.

_Terenia._

A name she had only recently acquired. A name she had acquired from a girl named Jennor-Elacable-Barees.

<Yes,> I said outloud to the struggling Hork-Bajir. I looked up at them.

"You know where she is?" Nagrit asked. I did not know when he had come in. I did not know how long I had been inside Terenia's head. But I kept rifling.

Terenia knew a lot about the little girl. She had lived with Jennor and her father, a cold veteran named Sofor-Elacable-Halladran. He was old, much older than I would have expected. Boys at Frahola's had fathers dozens of years younger than Sofor.

Jennor had been Terenia's charge. She had grown to love the little girl, grown to care for her as more than a requirement of her forced servitude. Jennor thought she wanted to be a warrior, but Terenia knew what Jennor really wanted. It made Terenia sad. She'd desired and sacrificed for something similar in her past.

<Get out of my head, you bitch,> Her voice rang in my mind. I smiled, having expected this to happen much sooner.

<Terenia-Rerin-Shamtul,> I said with a grateful laugh. <This can be easy or it can be difficult. It is up to you to decide.>

<You think I'll just give you permission to take me? Enslave me?>

<You know that's what we do. Jennor already told you all the relevant information, muddled by her side's perspective. That's not why you're angry,> I teased.

<What do you want with her?> Terenia asked in a shaking voice.

<I want her to die, Terenia. I respect you too much to lie to you.>

She began screaming and howling and imagining terrible things and remembering painful memories and using every weak weapon in her limited arsenal. I tuned her out. I was good at that. And I kept looking.

Jennor had spent two years in the training program, under the tutelage of the strange, unsettling man named Tuxebi. After two years, Jennor was supposed to go to an officer's training program on the equator. She had left four weeks ago.

 _That's where she is_ , I thought bitterly to myself.

But...no. Jennor's father had contacted the program to ensure Jennor's arrival, to confirm his visit two weeks later. The clerk was confused. Jennor was not on the list of accepted cadets; he had never even heard the name before.  _But surely there was some misunderstanding_ , Terenia remembered.  _Jennor and one other boy were admitted from Frahola's._

 _Yes, Rexxir,_  the clerk had said.  _He began training last week. There is no Jennor-Elacable-Barees on record._

Sofor spent two weeks investigating with no luck. He did not say anything to Terenia, but after two weeks, he appeared to give up. He knew something, and Terenia tried to taunt it out of him, but he would not budge. She did, however, piss him off enough to kick her out.

 _Piss him off_ , I mused, pleased that I had already integrated substantially into Terenia's psyche.

But that pleasure wore off soon when I suddenly realized what all of this meant.

Terenia knew Jennor, and her knowledge of the girl would be integral in helping me destroy her. But there was one vital piece of information that Terenia lacked.

She didn't know where Jennor was.

I had to start all over again.

I opened my eyes. My previous host had been taken away to be reinfested. Although I didn't order them to do this, it was clear to all of them that I'd accepted a new host.

"Well?" Nagrit was the only one brave enough to speak.

<We keep looking,> I said plainly. <And I get to be in charge of this from now on.>


	9. Chapter Eight: Jennor

Chapter Eight

Jennor

The Earth planet was suitable.

The boy was skeptical. The hawk was furious. I could not allow them to become problems.

I morphed my injuries away using my Hork-Bajir morph. Exploration was my next priority. The boy had mentioned a subterranean Yeerk Pool. I could not focus on that at the moment. The amount of vegetation on the planet indicated that water was abundant. Finding a source of water was high on my list of priorities. The grass seemed suitable. Finding a place to feed was another.

I was aware the hawk was following me. I allowed him to think I did not know.

The Earth trees were dense and immobile. They were covered in thick, fibrous cellulose. It provided primitive protection against the merciless elements. I ran my newly healed fingers over them. I noticed a long gash in one of them. It revealed a yellow, moist inside. A tail blade had caused it. The boy was skeptical, frightened, and restless. A dangerous combination.

Some time passed. I came across a clear stream slicing through the terrain. Trees gripped its banks with hard, strong roots. The water quivered in the moonlight. I wondered if it was potable. I scanned the stark banks with my stalk eyes. Hoofprints lined the edges. I inspected more closely. I saw hoofprints in the riverbed as well. This is where the boy drank.

I noticed my thirst. I set my hooves. I leapt into the water. It was deeper than I'd anticipated. The water splashed loudly around me. I scanned the banks again for an easier way down. A flutter of feathers told me the hawk was still watching me. I did not look at him.

I filled my thirst. I walked over to a bank I noticed was less steep. I sliced into a tree root with my tail blade. I anchored myself as my hooves dug into the clingy, cold mud. I was out in thirty-three second.

Such a length of time was unacceptable.

I noticed the trees became sparse beyond the river. I cantered carefully through them. I saw a clearing. The hawk had flown ahead of me. He watched me from a single, dead oak tree in the meadow. His eyes glowed yellow.

<What if I said you can't stay here?> he asked. It seemed the deception was over.

<You bear no authority over me,> I reminded him.

<You think I can't threaten your life? You think you're the only one who gets to do that?>

<You are permitted to threaten it. Can you follow through on that threat?> I asked. I scanned the meadow. I took a bite of the grass with my front hoof. It was not the grass of home. It was rough and bitter. It was suitable.

<I've never seen you fight,> the hawk admitted.

<Hope you never do,> I said. I began galloping through the field.

I watched the hawk with my stalk eyes. I scanned the field with my main eyes. I became aware of a feeling that I had seen a meadow like this somewhere before. A distant memory. Perhaps not mine.

Terenia. Terenia had been to a place like this.

I ate my fill of Earth grass. I decided I had recovered enough from the crash. The hawk was still angry. I did not ask him where to procure a human morph.

The humans had written literature, crafted films, and were aware of the threat and possibility of extra-terrestrial life. This did not mean that they would be rational about witnessing my presence. The amount of Yeerk specimens on Earth was unknown. I did not want to expose myself to that threat quite yet. I decided I could not delve into civilization to procure a human morph. My samples would have to come from rogue humans traveling alone.

The forest seemed a logical place to start.

I had read about activities called "camping" and "hiking" in my studies. These activities were often performed by rogue humans traveling alone or in small groups. These humans required a fair bit of strength and conditioning to perform these activities. They would be suitable candidates for a  _frolis maneuver_.

I left the meadow. The hawk watched me go.

For a few hours I came across no human activity. The night air was quiet and still. I began to wonder if I should reevaluate my plan.

I saw a trail of smoke rising from the trees about three quarters of a mile from where I stood.

Humans.

I resumed my gallop. Soon I was close enough to see them. They did not look threatening. I could not see any apparent weapons. They were not hunters. I immediately ignored the thought that they were Controllers. A Yeerk would never travel this far from civilization and his Kandrona supply simply "for the fun of it."

I was certain I would frighten them. I was certain I could outrun and subdue them if necessary.

I approached slowly. I would rather not frighten them. I would rather not subdue them. I did not know why.

I got closer. The situation became clearer. One was a male. Loose-fitting, white fabric hung off his shoulders and down over some kind of soft, rectangular platform. He was lying on top of a human female. The fabric covered them both. Tangled limbs were evident beneath the fabric.

They were mating.

I approached more quickly now. The female turned her head around. Her eyes were small but wide.

"Dave, do you—stop, David—do you see that?" The female asked. The male human stopped rubbing his face into her neck and looked up at me.

I acknowledged the humans with a slight nod.

The male began to laugh. This surprised me.

"You told me this wasn't laced. I mean, I'm not averse to the idea or anything, but if I knew I was going to hallucinate I would have brought some Pink Floyd or Lewis Carroll picture books or something," He muttered through wet, glomping mouthfuls of her flesh. He continued rubbing his face into her neck and chest.

"Wait, stop! I mean, if you see it, and we both see it, then maybe it's real!" The female exclaimed.

"Rupa, I'm close, can we just finish?" The human male asked. Males are often undeterred by logic when they are mating.

I was now only a meter or so away from them. The female watched me curiously. The male was too interested in the female to divert any attention. I decided to acquire the female first. I touched her face with my fingertips. It was scathingly warm. She fell into a trance. I moved on to the male. He, too, fell into a trance once I finished. Acquiring more than two specimens is normally suggested for a  _frolis maneuver_. I did not want to risk exposure or waste any more time.

I had procured a human morph.

I had completed my initial tasks. I decided it was time for the boy to show me the entrance to the Yeerk Pool.

I ran back to his scoop. When I arrived, he was conversing with the hawk. It was clear they were talking about me. They both watched me as I approached. Their eyes were too wide.

<I wasn't sure if you were coming back,> the boy said. His tail fidgeted. I kept a stalk eye on it.

<I require the location of the entrance to the Yeerk Pool,> I explained. I entered the scoop. I grabbed my Shredder. I opened the medical kit. I removed my utility belt. I put both aside.

<It's still rather early,> he said. <Most of the entrances are in places with normal hours of operation.>

<What are normal hours of operation?>

<Well, humans, like hawks, are a diurnal species, and at night they...sleep.>

<Where is the Yeerk Pool?> I asked again. I was impatient with his tangential explanation.

<Underground,> he said. He was repeating himself unnecessarily. I felt heat rise in my face. He was staring at me. He was not blinking.

<I know,> I said, adding some force to my words. <How do I get there?>

He blinked.

<There are many entrances around the city,> he explained. <There are two in the mall. When does the mall open, Tobias?>

<Eight,> the hawk said with a hard voice. The boy turned a pleading stalk eye up to him.

<The stores don't open till ten, though,> the hawk explained further.

<How far away is it?>

<Flying, only twenty minutes,> the boy said. <However, you'll need a human morph to gain entrance.>

<That I have,> I said simply. <I do not have a morph capable of flight.>

<Then take the bus,> the hawk said bitterly. The boy frowned at him.

<Tobias, do you think it is acceptable for the girl to acquire a traveling morph in Cassie's barn?> The boy asked.

Alien expressions are normally difficult to read. I believe the hawk was appalled.

<Are you KIDDING me?> He asked. <She threatens to kill Cassie and you want to invite her into Cassie's home?>

I wondered if threatening the Animorphs was the best idea, given the information available. I decided at the time it had been a suitable solution.

<She needs a flying morph,> the boy said weakly. He looked at me and smiled. Heat spread into my face again.

<She got a human morph on her own. How did you do that, anyway? How many people did you have to kill?>

<None,> I responded. I believe the hawk glared at me. <Very well,> I continued. <The "mall" does not open for another five hours. I will spend that time procuring a flying morph. You will be ready to go when I return.>

I grabbed my Shredder. I began heading back out into the forest.

<Wait,> the boy said cautiously. He cantered forward to meet me. <Would you like some help?>

The hawk leered.

<That is unnecessary,  _aristh_ ,> I said. <Prepare in whatever way you find suitable.>

The boy rubbed the back of his neck until I could no longer see him.

Finding a flying animal was more challenging than finding the humans. Animals do not leave trails of smoke. It seemed the hawk had carved himself a rather large territory. It required a few minutes of hard running before I started sensing other birds of prey. I listened carefully in the trees for fluttering wings and dynamic branches. It was still mostly dark. A silver gray emerged in the east. Most of the infra-red light I saw was organically-based. I scanned the trees carefully for almost two hours. I saw a nest.

There was no movement. I did not want to shoot it down until I was sure that there was some sort of bird inside. The sun broke the seal of the horizon. I saw a curious head emerged. It was capped in speckled feathers and a sharp yellow beak.

I dialed down the power of my Shredder and fired.

Nothing happened. It was in increasing need of a new fuel cell. I had not been willing to perform such a risky procedure on the ship. It still had a few months of power left. I would need to prioritize that.

I fired again. A bright blue beam of light leaped out of the gun. The angle of its ascent had been carefully planned to avoid most interference from branches. The beam hit the bird in the head. It tumbled out of the nest. Its wings got caught in some branches about twenty feet up.

I sheathed my weapon. I expanded the circumference of the holster. I morphed to Hork-Bajir.

Wrist blades hooked into the moist tree bark like a spade through freshly tilled dirt. I easily made my way up the tree. I extracted the bird and went back down.

I demorphed. I acquired it. I secured my gun in my holster. I morphed into the bird. I flew back to the scoop.

The morning was cool. It was difficult to fly. The Shredder and holster were heavy in my grasp. It was clear that this bird hunted much smaller prey. I landed after flying about 500 meters. I demorphed in order to shorten the time of my return journey.

<Oh, you're back,> the hawk said with a note of dejection. Still nearly a mile away, I had reached the range of his visual acuity. His form could see much better than mine. I saw him and the boy after forty-seven more seconds of hard running. <Did you get that Goshawk?>

<What time is it?> I asked a few moments later. I entered the scoop. I placed my Shredder and holster within. The hawk was uninterested.

<Almost 9:30,> the boy said. He tapped on a large, rectangular device fronted with a glass shield. Within the shield, humans obscured by solar interference sat in a room. A narrow orange bar on the bottom presented relevant information, including the time. It was a view screen.

<Television,> the boy explained. The word was familiar to me. <One of the primary media through which humans communicate.>

The boy had not morphed to his bird form.

I waited. I looked into his eyes. He seemed uncomfortable.

<Do you want to leave now?> He asked timidly.

<Yes,  _aristh_.>

I placed my Shredder and holster back in the medical kit. I closed it and slid it under a large, soft rectangular structure folded 90 degrees by a steel frame that faced the view screen.

<You're not bringing your Shredder?> The boy asked.

<I do not plan to fight,> I said. I began morphing. The boy packed some things in a small zipper bag. He morphed. He grabbed it with one of his large talons.

The boy was required to fly a mile higher and in front of me. He did not want to appear conspicuous. The only option was not to appear at all. I watched his vector changes carefully. The sun had begun heating the Earth below. Flying was easier. He seemed to struggle with the weight of his pack.

Soon he began making large circles. He was descending to the ground. He dove into a small area between two buildings. I followed him.

<We walk from here,> he said. The area was unoccupied. I thought demorphing was a bad idea. I had little choice.

The boy hopped up to a green, metal box with a ribbed, black lid. He looked around for human activity. Satisfied, he hopped down and demorphed. I followed suit.

He morphed to his human form which was sheathed in strange skin. The bottoms were black and tight. They reminded me of the loose fabric I had seen on the male human I'd acquired. The top was white and plain. It did not extend much past the middle of his upper arms. He looked at me expectantly.

"Well, go ahead. Haaaay-duh," he said, speaking through his strange human mouth. "I'll get dressed. La. Ssss-uh."

I performed the  _frolis maneuver_. I morphed to my human form.

The  _frolis maneuver_ is not difficult or artful. One simply must imagine the strands of DNA integrating themselves together. Appearance is arbitrary.

The boy stooped behind the dumpster. He pulled a brown paper bag out from behind it. He placed the smaller bag beside it. He dug through the larger one while I morphed. To my surprise, he put on more loose skin. I had a revelation.

Dressed.

Clothing.

I had researched the matter extensively. I had not understood the concept until that moment.

I finished my morph. For the first time, I examined the human form.

Its upper half was similar to my own. It was about 15% larger. The skin was dark tan. The arms were filled with natural muscles already much larger and stronger than the ones I worked to obtain in my own form. Short, strong, three-jointed fingers capped the arms. I slid my warm, sensitive hands over the rest of my body. On my bald chest were two strange lumps of flesh. I could not imagine their purpose. I did not like them. I felt strangely imbalanced due to the width of my hips. I looked down at my legs. They ended in two flat, strange-looking appendages.

Feet.

I wiggled my toes to test their strength. They managed to account for the loss of balance, both due to the hips and the two unsuitable legs.

I bent my knees.

I stooped down.

I tested my balance and strength.

A waft of hair blew in my face. I realized long, curly strands of it were free to impair my vision. Another problem I would need to solve. If only I had my tail blade so I could cut it off. A bit of it stuck to my lip. I had to open my mouth to excavate it.

A strange and debilitating sensitivity existed inside of the mouth. I could feel the individual strands of hair against my lip. I was overcome with sensation as I tasted the air. It tasted of fuel exhaust and dust. I breathed in through my nose. The power of scent was greatly improved from my Andalite form. It seemed to exist in an older part of the brain. More primal and raw than the Andalite sense.

I ignored the problems with the host and overcame the feelings it spawned in me: fearlessness peppered with caution. Happiness peppered with uncertainty. Everything was a contradiction.

I felt a wave of discomfort and looked up. The boy was staring at me. I felt cold and ashamed. I did not know why.

"You can borrow these," he said. He wasn't blinking. I received the clothes he had brought for me.

<Thank you,> I said. I felt the sudden urge to hide behind the dumpster.

"Speak through your mow-thuh. Human-zuh don't use thought SPEECH," he said.

"Thank you," I said. Sound rattled through my throat and out of my mouth, tingling against my tongue and teeth.

I looked at the boy and quickly figured out the way the clothes went on. He helped me put on what he called "underwear." I preferred to adjust the rest myself. The lowers clasped in the front. They slid down my hips. I put the upper on like the boy. He came over to adjust it.

"Backwards," he explained. "It offends them-m-m-m. I forgot shoes."

I shook my head slowly. I recalled shoes as having something to do with feet. "I do not need them."

It was easier to read his facial expressions in a form I shared. He seemed confused. "Mouth," he said, pointing to his own. "You don't like it?"

"Like," I repeated. "Where is the mall?"

He exhaled suddenly out of his mouth repeatedly. Laughter.

"What?" I asked.

"You will fit in there," he explained.

<Let us converse in thought speech. We cannot afford to have the humans hear us,> I said. That was one reason.

<You really don't like the mouth?>

I ignored him. I walked past him. He ran up and tapped my shoulder. <This way,> he said.

We walked in silence. Neither mouth-sounds or thought-speech words were exchanged. It seemed to make him uncomfortable.

<Why did you come to Earth?> He asked. The sole purpose of the question was to make him feel less uncomfortable. I did not want to answer it.

<What is the purpose of clothing?> I asked. I supposed my question would have the same effect on his discomfort. Now he seemed hurt.

<It is something I do not entirely understand,> he admitted. <At first I thought it was simply a protection against the elements—staying warm in cool places, keeping the body safe from dirt and the inclemency of Earth's weather. I now believe there is more to it than that.>

<Which is?> I prompted.

<Humans feel a great deal of shame about their bodies. I am not sure why. Clothing is used to cover up the parts they are ashamed about.>

A tremor ran through my spine.

<How far away is the mall?> I asked.

<Over there.> The boy pointed to a number of rectangular buildings labeled in different fonts.

We entered the mall in the front. Humans still used a market-based economy. Dozens of store fronts lined the wide, tiled hallways. Most sold textiles and other fabric-based goods. The boy guided me towards one called "Gap."

<A gap,> I said. <Appropriate.>

We went inside. <I will enter the dressing room. Follow me in no less than a minute,> he instructed.

I waited for a minute and four seconds.

When I entered, the boy had already opened the mirror. This revealed a staircase that led deep underground. I stepped up.

<No, no! They have biofilters, scanners that detect whether the entrant is infested.>

I looked up at him. <Why didn't you mention this before?>

He looked down. <I wasn't thinking clearly.>

I closed the mirror and headed out of the dressing room. He followed shortly.

<What—>

<You have performed your function,  _aristh_. Thank you for your assistance.>

<Where are you going?> He asked.

I stopped in the middle of Gap. I looked at him. <Do you have any expertise in human combat?>

He rubbed the back of his neck. This was a particular gesture. <No, I never bothered to learn.>

<I shall bother,> I explained.

I walked out of the store. I walked toward the entrance of the mall. I noticed that there seemed to be a large number of other establishments outside the mall. They sold all kinds of goods and performed many services. Perhaps one exchanged bits of information about human combat for human currency.

<So you're—right now?>

<Now is the only time ever worth considering,> I said.

I left him there.

I went to begin my human training.


	10. Chapter Nine: Terenia

Chapter Nine

Terenia

I had managed to stay together for four weeks. I didn't know what kind of accomplishment that was, but somehow counting down the days to some rescue that would probably never happen made the whole situation a lot easier to deal with.

I yelled a lot for the first week. It didn't take me long to realize that it wasn't doing much good. She was a little annoyed at first, but she got real good at ignoring me. It felt like giving up, but I couldn't keep yelling. I couldn't keep stabbing her with everything unpleasant I could remember or invent. It was too hard to force myself to be so sad when all I wanted was to feel happy. Or at least normal. But I was pretty sure normal was something I wasn't never get back.

The second week I took to imagining what would happen if I never got saved. The hope of rescue was necessary, even though I knew it wasn't never going to happen. I was infested by the leader of all the Yeerks. The Empress herself. Jennor hadn't known much about Yeerk ranks and stuff, but even she talked about the Council of Thirteen with respect and awe. It was hopeless.

But considering life without hope was like surrendering to life without happiness. I couldn't let myself give up. I spent the next two weeks looking everywhere for hope. In the doubtful glances of her shipmates, in the farthest corners of the galaxy she sought to take over. But her control was too tight, her grasp too firm. I couldn't break through her end. Someone would have to break through mine.

But who cared about me?

No one on Earth could come for me. And even if they could, would they try? I'd been gone for over two years. How could anyone still believe I was alive?

And on Andal...the only person I knew on Andal was Sofor, but he didn't even care enough about his own daughter to go find her after she'd been kidnapped. Why would he waste time looking for me?

All in all, things looked bad.

But there was still a little spark of hope in my chest. One little thing that convinced me not to give up entire. Jennor was out there somewhere. If she found out I'd been taken, she would...no. I couldn't count on her. She was a little kid with her own problems. If I wasn't here, I'd be out trying to rescue her. We both needed rescue. And we were both very much lacking in rescuers.

So I tried to find good in the situation.

I did have it pretty good for a host. At least as good as a host can expect to get it.

I wasn't one of those Hork-Bajir shock troops strapped with guns, sent to their deaths every two or three days. I wasn't one of those awful, smelly Taxxons walking around either waiting for hunger to strike, or to be struck by someone else's hunger. I was the Empress. She installed grass floors all over her Blade Ship so I wouldn't get hungry. She had the means to take care of me. Physically, I wanted for nothing. Except sleep. She had a hard time getting me to sleep.

She wasn't mean to me, either. She didn't feel the need, even when I had been in my rebellious phase, to push me down by sharing in my embarrassments or less-than-stellar memories. She didn't ridicule or judge me, though it was clear those tools worked good for other Yeerks. Like a kindergarten teacher, she was patient and forgiving. I meant too much to her.

Of course, she didn't chat or gossip with me or anything. We weren't friends. At best, I was a favorite tool. One she took good care of, but one that was ultimately meaningless and replaceable. Like Frank's favorite fishing rod, or, I don't know, Jennor's gun. Yeah. I was like Jennor's gun.

"Good morning, sir," her suck-up chief of staff or assistant or whatever said. I groaned a little. Punctual as always was Kiss-Ass Joe. Just once I wished I could be left alone for maybe three minutes in the morning without having to listen to their boring checklists and strategy-talk.

We had been walking through the halls of her ship. It was her favorite thing to do in the morning. Gauge the atmosphere, see what everyone's thinking. They saluted her as always, tried to stay stiff and formal, but they always gave themselves away. They weren't too fond of the grass. Especially the Taxxons, squirming and writhing and flicking away little bits of mud.

<Sub-Visser,> she responded using my voice. It was so weird to hear myself talk without doing it. Sort of like hearing yourself on an answering machine.

"I've compiled a list, you know, just because you said I should organize my thoughts before I go running my…before I…well, you know," he stammered, clearing his throat, holding out a small screen with hieroglyphics all over it. It took a moment for the translator chip I had gotten to sort them into a legible language. I wanted to grab for the pad, read what he'd wrote, but she ignored it.

<I told you I made up my mind,> she explained, looking away, waving him off. I ached trying to pull my eyes toward that list.

"There are plenty of alternatives."

<I am aware.>

_Please listen to him_ , I thought. I didn't want her to go through with it. She was putting me in unnecessary danger. Risking too much for something I didn't see as being worth the risk.

<But at least you're not one of those overarmed, expendable Hork-Bajir shock troops,> she reminded me. <The last thing I want is you dead, Terenia. You're all I've got. Remember that.>

I sighed, or at least, did as much of a sigh as I could, which did feel like a slightly deeper breath than normal. That happened sometimes. I don't know if it was just that at certain, rare, particular moments, we just happened to want to do the same thing at the same time, or that there was some kind of secret harmony involved in our twisted host/parasite relationship, but sometimes she did what I wanted her to. And it wasn't like I was in control. It wasn't my sigh. But it worked. It did whatever a sigh was supposed to do. And each time it happened, it worked a little bit better. As good as this felt, though, it scared me. It felt like we were becoming one person. Little bits of me were getting swallowed up by her, and vice versa. This wasn't good. I knew it really meant I was losing.

"Well, let's not talk about that for now. I'll change your mind before the end of all this." He looked up at her and smiled. It was frightening. His brown-stained, gnarled Hork-Bajir teeth were too big for his mouth and even though they were flat, they looked scary.

<What's on the agenda for today?> The Empress asked, sharing my disgust but nursing a weird tenderness for it.

"Visser Three would like to speak to you. About your host," he said.

<Yes, I thought he might.> she said, a slight shiver of pleasure passing through me.

She took her time getting to him. I wondered if he was waiting for her to speak to him, or if she'd call him back. But I realized the answer as quickly as I'd formed the question.

She was the Empress. He was waiting. And he was waiting longer because she wanted him to.

She checked the environmental status and fuel levels of the ship real thorough, and even performed a full-systems diagnostic. She reviewed the requests for host transfers, a weekly task it had been five days since she'd last completed. It seemed every Yeerk wanted a new host. There were at least thirty Taxxon controllers who wanted Hork-Bajir hosts. A couple of Hork-Bajir hosts had even been brave enough to put in a transfer for an Andalite host. Now that there was more than one, people felt like they were a shared commodity. This made her smile.

Some of them were wily enough to ask for labor transfers rather than host transfers. Each race was carefully segregated aboard her Blade Ship since they each preferred a different climate. The Taxxons liked it hot, dry, and dark. Hork-Bajir liked it a little cooler and moister. Her obsession with efficiency led her to assign each race where they'd be more comfortable. If a Taxxon Controller put in a request to move from weapons maintenance to the medical quarters, for example, then it really meant they wanted to trade in their old host for a stronger, less bloodthirsty model. She picked the three highest-ranking requests, making them each the recipient of a new Hork-Bajir body. After all, the new adolescents were nearing maturity.

Knowing all that stuff really made me mad. I didn't want to know any of it. I knew it because I saw it through her eyes. No, my eyes. I was still me, and she was just using me because she couldn't do any of this stuff without me.  _If I wasn't infested..._

_...you'd be on Andal, forced into different work you'd have no choice about._

I wanted to sigh again, but she didn't humor me this time.

Almost twenty minutes later, she headed over to the panel to talk to Visser Three. His strong, weathered Andalite face was sweaty and kind of irritated from being forced to wait so long.

<Visser, what an unexpected pleasure,> she said with a self-indulgent smile.

<Councilor,> The Visser replied, doing a sucky job of hiding his dissatisfaction.

<To what do I owe this distinct honor?> She asked, letting the full force of her sarcasm wash over him.

He seemed offended, but also a little nervous. He didn't like her any more than she liked him, but she had rank in this situation.

In every situation.

<I thought it was appropriate to discuss the, um...the consequences? No, no, that's not what I mean—>

<You're upset that you no longer have the only Andalite host in the Empire,> she said slowly, grin widening.

<I'm not sure "upset" best describes my current opinion,> the Visser said.

<Yes, it is a pity that your undeniable leadership skills are the only thing propelling your career from now on,> she said. <If you want my advice, Visser, it would be not to play this up too much. After all, there is no shame in being one of only two possessors of an Andalite host. And the more you talk about it, the more attention you're going to bring to the circumstances under which you received yours. If I recall correctly, didn't you first infest the War-Prince while he was subdued? Whereas I received my host on a daring invasion of the Andalite homeworld itself? Yes. There is honor in deception. Bravery in...well, cowardice.>

<I wanted to advise you not to address the Empire today,> he said. This was not the response she was expecting, and the smile dropped out of her eyes. <That is the rumor that's going around. It's about the girl, isn't it?> He asked.

<Don't assume anything, Visser,> she responded.

<You don't want to bring attention to the fact that you failed, sir.>

<Do you think I got to this position by being an insufferable know-it-all, Esplin?> she barked, a little more pointedly than she intended. <Is that how you plan to advance?>

<I seem to be advancing without any advice from you, sir.>

<Well, we'll see if that continues,> she warned. The Visser smiled. The game was now officially on.

<I wanted to warn you because if people see that you've failed, they will have less faith in you, and that might weaken your beloved efficiency.>

<What do you know about efficiency?> She scoffed.

<If you want to avoid it, you'll go through with the address. You've never had more support, sir. Gossip and hearsay of your invasion flow through all of the unregulated communications channels. You've never had a more direct hold over the Empire. If you address them, if they  _see_  the result of your mythic quest to Andal and realize you did not apprehend what you intended, then you'll lose that power. You'll become just like one of them.>

She rolled her eyes. A vestige from my human life.

<You don't think I know what the rest of my Empire knows? You think I pay so little attention to the news channels, to gossip, to grassroots communication? Yes, I planned an invasion of the homeworld, and they're aware that some attempt was made, but they don't know the specifics. They don't have visual confirmation of the success of our mission. They don't know about the girl. They need to. That is the point of this, Visser. I don't want to be mythic anymore. There's a war. Wars are concrete. Their leaders should be, too.>

<I believe you're making a mistake, sir. The Andalites fear me, because of my host. They know Alloran. Your host is still a great resource because she is unknown. If we could keep that, utilize her for espionage—>

<You really think I'm that thick, don't you? You think I can't see what you want? You don't want people outside of my Blade Ship and the few, if any, advisors you've trusted enough to inform to know about my new host. And I understand that. Did you know that two people from my ship put in for a host transfer? For an Andalite?>

The Visser turned slightly pale at this. He was not inspiring as much fear as he used to.

<Now there's a reaction that makes sense,> she gloated. <I appreciate your concern, but you really don't know how important this girl is to me,> she said. <It will kill you,> he said. <If you tell them about her, it will kill you.>

<And if I don't, it will kill me faster.> She sighed. <Death is the only end point along any series of choices, Visser. Never forget that.>

She shut off the monitor. He had agitated her more than she meant to let him. She shuddered.

It took about five minutes for her to find her assistant. <Sub-Visser, give me the list,> she said.

_Finally_ , I thought.

He looked at her and smiled again. This one was not as scary. Not as pronounced. More sincere.

He handed her the list, and as he did, a sharp claw dug through my Andalite skin. We both jerked back our hands in surprise.

"My apologies, sir. I'll go get a dermal regenerator."

<No, Sub-Visser, leave it. It's fine.>

"If you appear on screen with an injury, some Yeerks, Visser Three especially, might deduce that you can't morph."

<I realize that, but if I use a dermal regenerator for a simple scratch, I'll be perceived as some weak coward. Besides, it will leave a scar. These things heal better on their own. I don't think anyone will give me trouble for a little scratch.>

"It was my fault, sir. I take responsibility."

Now it was her turn to smile. <Think nothing of it.>

She finally looked down at the list and read what he had wrote.

_1) Loss of anonymity among the council._

<Sub-Visser,> she said. <I don't need to state my rank in order to address the Empire.>

"I think it will be assumed," he responded.

<You worry too much.>

_2) Prime target for assassination if message intercepted by the Andalites._

<A price I'm willing to pay,> she said.

_3) Relevant information might be better delivered by some other means._

<Like what, a memo? People need to hear from their leaders,> she said.

_4) What would I do if you got hurt?_

She looked up at the vicious, alien Hork-Bajir, whose face had not changed. I felt my shins and shoulders tingle, but it wasn't shared this time.

<You could really only think of three reasons?> She asked.

"Yes, sir," he responded. "Three reasons."

His face didn't change, but there was a sort of pathetic defeat in his eyes. She handed him back the view screen and continued walking down the hallway.

<I address the Empire tonight,> she vowed.

I felt a big surge of pity for him, all of a sudden, despite my earlier annoyance. I think she felt the same. A warm flow of guilt washed through my chest. We had another one of those weird connections. She was feeling what I wanted to feel, but she was feeling it to a much stronger degree.

<That was cute,> I said quietly.

<Stay out of it,> she warned pointlessly. I decided not to explode in a loud speech about how "staying out of it" was all I really wanted, and let the strangeness of their relationship distract her instead.

She had a meeting with the Council scheduled to discuss the message for tonight. In the last month, the war had taken unexpected turns at various locations far from center, so she spoke to most of the Council through holographic projections. It was good practice. This is how she'd address everyone tonight.

<Councilors,> she said, standing in a large, round room with projectors showing the various images of the Council, hidden in shadow and cloth. She hadn't got around to installing grass in here. Already I felt my stomachs growl.

"Councilor Eight," they all responded customarily.

"The issue under discussion today is the message you plan to deliver to the Empire," the human host said. The first time I had seen him, I'd cried out in distress, and though she sort of laughed at me, I could also sense a little sympathy and guilt.

Like I said. I didn't have it so bad.

But now, I had gotten used to the idea. I even took a little comfort in seeing him. It had been years since I saw a human.

She sighed impatiently. <I've presented my script to you; I don't understand what possible problem has arisen.> Her patience with the council had dwindled now that they had messed up her capture of Jennor.

I liked them for that. Even though it meant I was here instead.

"No problem at all," A Taxxon Controller hissed. "We would just like to verify the time so we can inform the captains of all of our Blade and Pool Ships to assemble their crews. Still 2100 hours?"

<Yes,> The Empress hissed right back.

"Very well. Billions of Yeerks will finally meet their Empress."

Sudden shouting erupted amongst the council. The Empress smiled invisibly at the Taxxon's gaffe.

<Settle down, everyone,> The Empress said after the argument inspired movement and shoving among the few Councilors sitting in the same room. The plan was that the Empress wasn't going to introduce herself as "Empress." She was going to say Councilor Eight. Her pseudonym.

Everyone agreed that this was a good idea. The Empress, because she didn't want to make her face known to either the Andalites or the Yeerks. She wasn't so worried about the Andalites. As her assistant had said, knowing she was a Councilor was enough to inspire them to seek assassination. But she  _was_  worried about Yeerks. She had tortured enough traitors to see just how powerful the desire for rank was over obligation and loyalty.

And of course, the Council liked the equality that her anonymity offered. If she was really the Empress, it would be hard to disagree with her.

<Please, sit down. I don't plan to address the Empire as Empress. We've already discussed it. It would be suicide.>

The Council, still settling down, grumbled in agreement.

<And, at the very least, it seems like a very...touchy issue among you,> she said. <I wouldn't want to disturb the balance.>

I got a sick feeling in my stomach. It was real. And I wasn't sure who had caused it or why it was happening.

"Well, be sure to stick to the script," A Hork-Bajir growled.

The Empress nodded and ended communication.

When she exited the conference room, her assistant was not waiting.

<Too embarrassed,> I offered. She didn't respond.

She was not scheduled to address the Empire for another two hours. I decided now was the time to speak up.

<Is this thing transmitting to all Yeerks, or just the ones with hosts?> I asked.

<All Yeerks. A psychic feed is going into every Pool equipped with one.>

<So like, how many people is that?> I asked.

<Billions.> I felt a shiver of fear run through my bowels. Perfect. I laughed a little. <You're taking pleasure in my discomfort, aren't you?> She asked.

<Wouldn't you be?>

<Are you planning on yelling and screaming once we begin transmitting?> She taunted. <That would probably be just the perfect distraction from what little stage fright I am bound to experience.>

<Oh, you don't know what I'm planning,> I laughed.

<Yes, Terenia. I do.>

I decided to stop talking to her.

But doubt was planted. The closer it got to 9:00, the more I felt my shins and shoulders tingle. She went to the medical quarters to get something to calm her down. Her assistant was in there, talking to one of the Hork-Bajir technicians. The Empress avoided conversation, barely even acknowledging him.

Finally, it was time. She dug my hoof hard into the grass just outside of the conference room. She was trying to outrun my metabolism.

<It won't be that easy,> I said.

<I know.>

She stepped inside. Her assistant was waiting inside with a dermal regenerator.

"It won't leave a scar," he said softly. He carefully grabbed my arm and ran it over the scab that had formed where he scratched me. The wound disappeared, leaving nothing but fresh skin underneath.

<Thank you, Nagrit.> She responded. I felt my stalk eyes clench shut and curl close to my scalp. I laughed at her. It was the first time she'd addressed him by his real name, and I wasn't about to let that go unnoticed. Her shins and shoulders were still tingling, a little from embarrassment, but now they had a slightly different flavor. Warmer.

Nagrit noticed what I noticed and smiled. "Good luck, sir," he said before exiting the conference room.

It was time.

The lights dimmed, and a red light in front of her began flashing.

<Thirty seconds,> I said. <You can still run, you know.>

She breathed deeply a few times, tucking my arms behind my back, lowering my stalk eyes behind my head. She wasn't going to reveal what species she was until late in the speech, when all the houselights came up. These Yeerks sure loved their drama.

Seconds were drawn and quartered into what felt like hours. It was painful for me, too. I couldn't stop imagining the terrible things that would start to happen once she revealed herself to her subjects. The threat of assassination was as real as having to go to the bathroom or needing to breathe. And the weight, the weight of potential failure...

Now wait just a minute here. I was afraid of Terliss' failure? What was wrong with me?

I felt a surge within me, and as I did, I remembered my first tornado. A thundercloud rumbled off in the western horizon, purple and brown, curling thick under itself. A heavy, slow wind, the smell of it rustling through the fields. It was still calm. Tense and calm. Blue skies disappeared into the east.

<Get out of my head, you filthy bitch,> I seethed.

The light turned green. We were recording.

<Denizens of the Empire,> she began. <I bid you health of mind, health of host, and health of luck.>

<Leave Jennor alone, and get out of my head!>

<Though the first two are mainly under your own control, unless you are unfortunate enough to be one of the many without a host, I can say with great excitement that the prognosis for the third seems to be improving for all the Empire. The Taxxon Homeworld is nearly under our complete control, and Hork-Bajir production is up, now that our medical experts have slashed infant mortality rates by incubating cubs in artificial cylinders rather than sows.>

<GET OUT OF MY HEAD!>

<Most exciting of all, however, is the continued exploration and vivisection of our galaxy. We are finding new, better, more numerous hosts every day. Before the end of our lifetimes, any Yeerk, no matter his accomplishments or station, will have pick of the litter of any host he wants.>

<Look what you've done, you filthy piece of lard and slime! Look at what you're doing! You're begging for approval like a little kid pissed his pants! In front of a bunch of other selfish, spoiled, sticky little brats! You're begging for approval from the retarded, demented failures of the universe!>

<But any of this news is available to someone with the simple desire to seek it. The reason I address you all tonight is far more sinister.>

The lights turned on, revealing my Andalite form to every Yeerk in the Empire.

<No, no, no! I'm not a part of this! This isn't me! Turn it off, put me back! I want to go home, I can't do this anymore!>

<Yes. I realize that whispers of a successful invasion of the Andalite homeworld have been circulating, thanks in no part to the vow of secrecy taken by every Yeerk who was a part of that mission.> My eyes got serious on the outside, but on the inside I was crippled, overcome, drowning in tears.

<Please just stop,> I begged, totally afraid, defeated, and exposed. <Please just run.>

<A large-scale invasion of Andal—yes, that's what those foul beasts call it—is currently impossible. We had only the means to penetrate their defenses with a single fighter. One fighter to receive one little girl.>

<Stop!> I yelled, getting more serious. <Don't do it, please!>

<This is not that girl.>

<Leave Jennor alone. She's just a kid. How can she hurt you?> I sobbed.

<I don't ask you to understand what I'm about to tell you. I barely understand it myself. But the mission I designed to penetrate Andalite defenses and neutralize this threat failed. Yes, my faithful friends, I admit failure. The girl I speak of, named Jennor-Elacable-Barees, is a great menace to the Empire. If you see her, if you even glimpse a female Andalite warrior in any battle you partake in, I want all focus centered on her. I want her alive, but I will accept her dead. Rest assured that any faithful servant who successfully apprehends her can expect great reward and success.>

She nodded almost invisibly and the screen revealed Jennor's personnel picture. I sobbed louder. While the picture obscured her, she wiped the sweat from my brow.

<Jennor-Elacable-Barees must not be allowed to succeed. She must not even be allowed to survive. Whatever threat she poses to the Empire will ruin us all.>

The scripted speech was over. The communications technician went to cut transmission, but she signaled him to wait.

<My name is Terliss 412. As your Empress, I command it to be done.>

The green light flickered off, and I drowned in inaudible, invisible hysterics as she sauntered out, smiling to herself.


	11. Chapter Ten: Jennor

Chapter Ten

Jennor

The first thing that hit me was the smell.

I breathed in hard, and just from the smell, I could tell I wasn't home. The air tasted filtered, stale, artificial. Like a ship lot, like a fuel refinery, like stale organic waste. No solar heat radiated from the grass, and the ground was not spongy with dirt and moisture. There was no jet stream, no air flow, no circulation. Everything was stuck inside this terrible little space.

I opened my main eyes. I was about two meters away from Trainer's hooves. He was idly shifting his weight from side to side, carefully scratching an itch on his haunch with the blunt edge of his tail blade. Dry grass prickled my face. Even up this close, it didn't smell like grass. It smelled like Styrofoam or rubber. It was withered and flaccid, drooping down to the ground like wet hair. It looked like it had given up.

I opened a fuzzy stalk eye and gauged my situation. I turned, looking up at the blank, shining ceiling with my main eyes, inspiring a primitive rush of panic. Andalites are not meant to lie on the ground, and though I felt the sharp inclination to scramble to my hooves, I stayed still, silently hushing my throbbing head. I glanced back at my waist to see that my holster and Shredder were gone. I lifted my stalk eyes, scanning the rest of the ship, blinking the aching dullness away, and gazed up at Trainer. He was at the control panel, hands hovering carefully over the tactile controls, eyes focusing hard on the psychic ones. The single stalk eye always reserved for me was gazing curiously up and down my prostrate body. I looked away, suddenly aware of a significant change in his demeanor.

It was just like that terrible smell, the way I could sense how different he was. I had been too blind to notice it before now, distracted by my own selfish fear of failure. But he'd been nervous too. No, not nervous. Terrified. Self-doubting, panicked. Was he scared about my potential failure too? My failure would reflect poorly on him, but…no, he'd known the status of my acceptance before I'd found out, and his terror persisted beyond my admittance to the training facility. His fear was selfish, too. He was afraid of failing at something that had nothing to do with my career. But it had everything to do with me.

I didn't understand, but I could tell he was different now. He was content. His terror was gone, replaced with smug pride and self-assuredness. Whatever he had done, he had gotten away with it.

Yes. That distinct thought passed through his mind.  _I got away with it._

<I'm sorry that I hit you,> he said, distracted by the control panel, as though my presence was a mild inconvenience. <Dangerous to be up and about in a ship jumping to Zero Space, no?>

<Where are we?> I asked, rolling onto my stomach so I could pull myself to my hooves.

<Zero Space,> he answered slowly, annoyed by my question, as if it should have been perfectly obvious. I thought of a way to rephrase it to make it clearer, but decided against it. Trainer liked his games of wit and evasion. Especially when he had something to hide.

<Go get something to drink, Jennor. There's a pool in your quarters.>

I pulled myself to a standing position, eyes fluttering, head heavy with throbbing pain. I stumbled to the aft living quarters, guiding myself carefully with the smooth interior edge of the ship. The temperature increased as I walked, heat radiating from the normal-space engines. Poor compensators. Mediocre life support. It was why the air tasted so artificial, why I felt so trapped. My eyes roved around once more, corroborating my surroundings, calculating the volume of the ship. Less than a hundred cubic meters. A choking sensation in my throat. Sweat trickled down my temple. I put a cold finger to it, which helped the persistent throbbing from the initial assault.

The entrances of the quarters faced each other, separated by a narrow hallway. I heard the high-pitched hum of the twin Zero Space engines from within each room. I glanced inside the starboard quarters, but it was clear that Trainer had claimed it. He had already unpacked a number of personal items. I felt a thrill of unclear fear. A withered branch from a long-dead wish flower hung over the small, circular, ramonite window that looked out to the sleek, unnecessarily aerodynamic Z-Space engine. His holster and Shredder, a newer, sleeker model than mine, lay tidily in the corner of the room. He had a small, round, metal desk adorned with a bouquet of flowers suspended in mid-air inside an orb of water—a pretty elementary manipulation of artificial gravity. On the other side of the desk, obscured by the orb, was a small holographic image of a beautiful woman. I was drawn to her image. I wondered who she was.

<Your quarters are over there, Jennor,> he said sternly, charging up from behind, blocking his doorway. He pressed his tail blade flat into my chest and pushed me into the opposite room.

I stumbled inside, watching him with my stalk eyes as I surveyed the situation.

After a quick glance, I realized that my room was smaller than Trainer's. There was no reason why the rooms shouldn't be equal in size. The grass in here was even more pathetic than on the bridge. It looked almost ashen, completely devoid of life or nutrition. An artificial-looking light in a tube outlined the room, giving little flickers of surrender every few seconds. My stomach gave a sick lurch when I realized none of my personal effects were in here. No, none of my things from home, but the only things I really wanted were my holster and Shredder

Where were they?

That one question opened a floodgate of curiosity, fear, indignation, and impatience, and I looked up at Trainer expectantly. Though I hadn't said a word, Trainer knew exactly how to respond to me.

<I suppose you and I need to have a talk,> he said, standing in my doorway, an air of benign wonder in his voice, like he was predicting what the weather would be like later in the day.

<Why are we in Zero Space?> I asked him, repulsed by the look of satisfaction and victory in his black eyes, but too stubborn to break eye contact.

<We are in Zero Space because we are traveling somewhere that necessitates it,> he responded. He was still gloating, enjoying his game of psychological hide-and-seek.

<Where are we going that necessitates the use of Zero Space?> I asked patiently.

He breathed deeply, finally preparing to reveal the truth.

<We are traveling to a planet in Sector 42, Section Gamma,> he responded. <There is no native sentient species.>

<Is this a pit stop?> I asked.

<What?> He asked. I waved my stalk eyes, remembering that he would not recognize an Earth idiom.

<Are we going to Officer's Training afterwards?>

He smiled.

I wanted there to be menace and danger in it, but for the first time since I'd met him, it seemed sincere. He was proud of me, and there was an unmistakable sense of accomplishment that validated it. For a second, it reminded me of my father, but I didn't know why. Father had only looked at me like that once before.

<You are not going to Officer's Training, Jennor,> he said.

I felt prickly ice cubes run down my neck and back, pins in my shoulders and shins. I wobbled a little. But Trainer kept smiling.

<Why not?> I whispered.

He walked inside my quarters and pressed his palm to the flickering light. A control panel opened up before him, flashing navy blue warnings. He moved his fingertips there, closed his eyes in concentration, and the light stopped flickering.

<You really don't know how talented you are, do you?> His stalk eye was pinned on me, like always.

I felt the ice melt as my cheeks flushed. The stalk eye smiled.

<I spent only a few months fighting in the war before my reassignment to Frahola's,> he said, a note of bitterness in his voice. <The quality of the warriors I met disappointed me to no end. I thought I could change that, from my new position. But not until you, Jennor...> his voice trailed off. I felt faintly nauseated.

He gazed for a moment out of the small window that looked at nothing except the large, glowing Zero Space engine. He was distracted by something from his past. I could tell I didn't want to know about it, so I didn't try to probe him.

<But why now?> I asked, breaking him from his reverie.

<Because the Andalites are losing, Jennor.> he responded, still gazing out the window. <Because we need every last scrap of talent we can dig up fighting on the front lines. Because you can make a difference.>

<But two years of Officer's Training surely won't—>

<There might not be a war in two years, Jennor,> he said, turning his full attention on me. He was not angry or threatening, but I couldn't bear that terrible, black, inscrutable gaze. <Those blessed with talent are also cursed by it, Jennor. The war needs you.> I felt like he wasn't finished speaking, but he said nothing further.

<I just...I'm not that great. You cut me the first day. There's so much I still need to learn. Would they even let an  _aristh_ fight on the front lines? I really can't—>

<Let me worry about the details, Jennor,> he said, smug self-satisfaction returning to his face. <And...I am only going to say this once, so listen closely.>

I broke eye contact and looked down.

<You are...Jennor, you were, without a doubt, the best student I instructed this year. In a way, your progression from bucking, unfocused neophyte>—I scowled at this—<to graceful, finessed tail artist was the same as anyone else's, but the fighter you turned into...it was like you were born for it. Crafted for combat. It is what any combat trainer can only dream of. I have never seen someone make the transition so smoothly. It takes most men years.> He laughed for a moment. <Perhaps that is the difference. Perhaps we sent the wrong half to war.>

<Sir, I—>

<You can be a hero, Jennor. That gift, on the end of your tail, that sign...you're already a better fighter than any of those boys hundreds of pounds heavier and a decade older. I don't even want to imagine the force you will be when you...mature, no?> He said the last words, sliding his eyes up and down my frame. He may as well have splashed me with cold engine oil.

<And you really believe we shouldn't wait until then?> I asked.

He smiled again, all sincerity lost. <Surely not. You're ready now.> Despite his testimony that made my hearts swell with pride, I felt unconvinced. There was something he wasn't telling me. His previous thought rang in my head:  _I got away with it._

Got away with what?

<So this is...good, then?> I asked him uncertainly. He laughed again, this one both lighter and more dangerous.

<Yes, Jennor, this is very good.>

<Well, my father is unaware of the good news. I shall go contact him,> I said, making my way slowly out of the quarters. Trainer grabbed me by my upper arm.

<We can use no long-range communication while in Zero Space,> he said flatly.

<Oh. When we...reach our destination, then?> I tried to pull my arm away, but he gripped it tighter.

<Certainly,> he said, releasing his grip.

Three weeks went by in the blank embrace of Zero Space. I convinced myself I'd grown accustomed to my new environment, but I began experiencing panic attacks, waking up in cold sweats in the middle of the night. Trainer spent most of his time at the control panel. I tried a few times to see what he was doing, but it's hard to spy on someone when one of their eyes watches everything that you do. He had unloaded my Shredder and given it back to me, telling me to practice holding it and walking with it. <Make it a close friend,> he instructed. He said when we finally reached the planet, he would give me all the supplies I would need to fill my holster—Shredder fuel cartridges, tiny remote grenades, artificial skin grafts, and a few painkillers. I swelled in anticipation for when that day would arrive.

I spent most of my time reviewing my tail-fighting forms. There were dozens in total, half designed to condition different muscles, the other half meant to prepare for different opponents. Most were divided into categories for Andalites—different forms for different heights, weights, and builds. Tail-fighting was an eons-old art, and only recently had the division of the military devoted to it conceived of forms for engaging Hork-Bajir and Taxxons. Those were the ones I concentrated most heavily on. Those were the ones I would need to master.

Trainer paid very close attention to my eating and drinking habits. I was only allowed to eat the grass on one side of the ship at a time, in order to give the grass on the opposite side an opportunity to regrow. It tasted dry and it was difficult to swallow. I tried to stay off the wrong side of the ship, because it's so instinctive to absorb any grass you're standing on. If he saw me eating on the wrong side, he would glare and insult my stamina, my strength of will, my devotion. My gender. My father. Sometimes I wished he would just cut me again. He always knew exactly what to say to break my spirit.

Every three hours or so, he would tell me to get a drink of water. After all, the grass was dry, and it was necessary for proper brain and body function to remain hydrated. It was an unsettling new habit, since the grass of home more than hydrated me. His final order was at 2100. I don't know why, but the water on that ship always made me sleepy. I'd usually fall asleep for the night half an hour after that completing that final order.

Finally, after I knew all of my Shredder's deepest secrets and could do thirteen of the seventeen Hork-Bajir and Taxxon forms in zero-gravity, Trainer approached me and informed me that we would reach the planet later that day.

 

<Why are we fighting on a planet with no native sentient species? I thought the war was to protect all of the innocent races of the galaxy who can't defend themselves,> I said, reciting just a little bit.

<Things are not so simple. This planet is a prime relay point for communication to both the Andalite and Yeerk homeworlds. A large nebula about a light year away acts as a transmitter that tunnels through sub-space to a sister nebula just outside of Andal. The Yeerks set up an artificial satellite for the same reason outside their home base. This sector of space does not otherwise have a reliable means of communicating with the Electorate.>

<We're fighting for a satellite?> I asked.

<Yes, Jennor. Sometimes war is not just noble and photogenic,> he said.

I rubbed my hands together in disappointment. I had forgotten to keep up that habit, now that there were no suspicious Andalites around. Trainer was not disgusted by my cold hands.

<No, Jennor, don't do it like that,> he sighed. <People will suspect what you are if you do it like that.>

<Father always said—>

<Your father was right about very little, Jennor. You don't know how many of his lessons turned into bad habits I had to break,> he said. I felt a sudden rush of longing for my father. He still didn't know where I was.

<There are a few things you can do to keep your hands warm while diffusing suspicion. First is this.>

He clutched my hands. They were moist and balmy, like a wet cloth heated with low-powered Shredder fire. He tucked each of my hands under the opposite elbow, so I was crossing my arms, but he spread my fingers out so they were lost in the sparse fur that trickled down my ribs.

<Your ribs are warm, no?> he asked. He smiled, holding his hands over mine. <Second is this.>

He drew my arms out from beneath my elbows and folded them behind my back. I felt a bolt of fear as he bent the arm, incapacitating it. But then both arms seemed to fall into a natural stance, folding over each opposite wrist neatly. I felt the muscles in my chest stretch in relief.

<This is less effective, as your forearms are still very chilled compared to the rest of your body. But it's a stance of power. No one will touch you if you stand like this.>

I nodded in understanding.

<One final thing that works well communicates less power, but it is most efficient. You will see things, Jennor. Most of these things will be horrifying to the weak. You are female. You will be perceived as weak.>

<But I'm not weak,> I argued with a glare.

<No,> he said, half-amused. <You are not.>

He pulled my hands out in front of my body and curved them towards my face. With his hands pressed against mine, he covered the bottom half of my face with my hands.

<Your breath is hot,> he explained. <It will bring life to your hands.>

I inhaled through small spaces in my fingers. When I exhaled, the air, stirred in my lungs, lent warmth to my fingers.

<I have to act like I'm horrified?> I asked.

<You may not have to act. Much of it will be horrifying.> He kept his hands over mine.

I removed my hands from my face, and for a brief, strange moment, his hands remained, cupping my cheeks with something like fondness. Then he pulled them away and mimicked the second stance he showed me, folding his arms behind his back. He glanced at the control panel.

<Of course, most of that will be unnecessary. When we fight, you will use the morph of the boy you procured on the first day of training.>

My eyes widened. <Sir, I won't be able to fight as well in that form. My...the things I've learned, they're encoded in muscle memory. I don't know how to fight as a boy!>

<The things you have learned are in your mind, Jennor, and your mind is perfectly fungible between morphs,> he explained. <You need to keep your mind in his head. It will be difficult. His brain will make you think like him. But you must resist it. You must use your talents, your memories, your abilities. Do not surrender to his form, Jennor, just because you must fight in it.>

<Why can't I just fight as me?> I asked.

<I don't understand why you're arguing, Jennor, you forget that this means you can't fight more than two hours at a time. It is my responsibility to ensure you do not become a  _nothlit_. I take my responsibilities very seriously,  _aristh_. Many warriors get stuck in the trenches for days at a time, and you will have a two-hour workday.> He scoffed at me and turned again to the navigations panel.

<We should arrive in about three hours. Be sure to eat heartily before we depart. There may not be grass there,> he said.

<No grass?> I asked, horrified.

<See? It's not so hard,> he said, correctly reading the look on my face.

The next three hours were torture. I had not forgotten Trainer's promise that I could speak to my father once we left Zero Space. Minutes grew exponentially long. I tapped my fingers impatiently, and rubbed my hoof in the dry, disgusting grass. Finally, I heard a subtle shift, and a hum I'd forgotten was even there suddenly changed pitch.

The Zero-Space engines were powering up. We were phasing back into normal space.

I walked up to the control panel so I could see the planet from the view screen, but a powerful glare from his stalk eye told me to keep my distance. I obeyed, watching our descent to the planet from my limited angle.

As we approached, I saw the planet itself was a gray, dead thing, covered in thick, impenetrable clouds. It had two moons—one was green and vibrant, littered with the pleasing, relieving sight of hundreds of Andalite craft. The other was red and dusty, and sunlight reflected off of a large, artificial mirror, covering most of the northeastern hemisphere, straight to the Andalite-occupied moon. Swarms of Bug fighters and Blade Ships hovered around the iron-toned moon, and large command ships—Dome Ships for the Andalites, Pool Ships for the Yeerks—marked out a careful boundary in space for each.

<They're trying to affect the weather,> Trainer said with a laugh, referring to the mirror. <Morons.>

<Andalite vessel, state your identification code,> A thought-speech voice came from the transmitter.

The communication was back up!

<This is Andalite Vessel Beta-47258-QPS, codenamed  _Alina_. Request permission to land on the Andalite moon and assist in this effort.>

<Where are you coming from, Vessel  _Alina_?>

<Andal,> Trainer responded.

<How is she?> The voice asked.

<Safe,> Trainer said.

<We haven't had news from the homeworld in months. Prepare to be debriefed when you disembark. How many in your complement,  _Alina_?>

<Just two. Myself, and my  _aristh_ , Cristex-Sirium-Regelas.>

The stalk eye grinned at me.

<Clear for landing at docking bay Theta-113-B,> the voice responded. Trainer summoned a map of the moon and spotted our landing port.

<Long live the Electorate,> Trainer said with a relieved sigh.

The communication terminated, and I walked up to Trainer.

<Can I call my father now?> I asked, reaching a hand towards the control panel. <You said I could use communication once—>

Striking like a snake, one of his hands grabbed my wrist hard and curled it so it reached toward my shoulder. His eyes assaulted mine with a furious, almost insane glare, a look of such hatred and anger, I knew the cause was not merely my simple request. His fingernails dug into my cold flesh and drew blood.

<Were you not just paying attention,  _aristh_?> Trainer said, addressing me formally for the first time, using hard and loud Form Alpha. <They have not had contact with the Homeworld in months. Because of the nebula. Do you remember when I explained that to you?>

<But...but you said…> I said, feebly shaking my arm.

<Now you understand the importance of this battle,> he said. <Imagine the men who have been stuck here for months, even years, wanting only to talk to their wives and children again. Imagine how that feels, Jennor.>

<But my father—>

<Your father is content, Jennor, perhaps for the first time since your birth. He didn't care about you before, he doesn't care now. In fact, your disappearance has probably elated him.>

I felt my hearts splinter in protest. <You're wrong. He cares, but he just doesn't know how…> Behind Trainer's fury, I felt a single note of pity and remorse.

<Go warm your hands,> he said, releasing me with a look of disgust. <You feel vile.>

I covered my face with my hands and breathed slowly, watching that terrible stalk eye the whole time.

We landed on the verdant moon shortly after, nestling into the docking cradle while a warm breeze swayed palm fronds and sent looping ribbons of pollen through the air. I had morphed to Cristex, scuffing my awkward adolescent hooves on the grass, testing my proportionately puny tail blade. Trainer had, as he promised, filled my holster with all sorts of weapons and refilled the cartridge on my Shredder. The anger ebbed a little in my new form, but I still felt the sick and deranged desire to use his gifts on him.

They debriefed him for a long time. I stood outside the door of a long, grimy hallway within a poorly-constructed and unkempt base trench with my hand on my holster, counting down the minutes until I would be stuck in this form forever. The longer it took, the angrier I got. Angry that I knew they were asking him every for detail about a home they could barely remember and only mourn. They wanted a complete picture of the world they left behind, a world so far away that it probably felt like a distant dream. I knew they were entranced by his descriptions, enamored by his testimony, in love with what his presence offered. And every bit of relief and happiness it gave them gave me bitterness and regret.

He'd been right.

Why did he have to be right?

Why couldn't his lies be overt and contradictable? Why was he making it so difficult to counter him?

With five minutes in morph to spare, he exited the room with a large, heavily scarred War-Prince and a meek, pale transcriptionist. He patted them on the back, laughing about some inside joke he had formed in his limited time with them.

<All right, Tuxebi, you keep us updated on your equatorial  _estreens_ ,> the War-Prince said with a laugh. <This your  _aristh_?>

<Yes, that's Cristex.>

<Little young, isn't he?> He asked, cocking his head to the side.

<Just got a foal's face, that's all. He could slice right through a Blade Ship, given the chance,> Trainer assured them. The War-Prince shrugged in assent.

<I better publish this testimony,> The transcriptionist said. <I think this will really improve morale around here.>

He scuttled away, moving with a vitality and puffed-up importance that seemed wrong on him.

<Well, we better go get settled into quarters,> Trainer said. <Cristex, why don't you go on ahead? You look a little...parched,> he said. He bowed his head down, looking at me hard. He was being overly obvious. I knew what he meant, but the War-Prince seemed too distracted by his momentary relief and homesickness to care.

I went to our quarters and demorphed, pacing impatiently until Trainer returned. <What are our orders?> I asked.

<I apologize for cutting it so close,> Trainer said. <I won't let that happen again.>

I glared at him until he answered my question.

<There are two main objectives here, Jennor. The first is defending the green moon.>

<So we're going there?> I asked.

<The second objective is mining the planet. That's where they need us,> he said.

<The gray thing? With...clouds?> I asked.

<I tried to get us on the moon, Jennor. It appeals to me more as well. I don't want to traipse around in mud anymore than you do.>

<But the clouds cover everything. Maybe there's grass underneath.>

<There's water. But only because it's a gray, lifeless swamp.> He paused and attempted a comforting smile, but it came across as unnatural and forced. <This is less dangerous. It's solitary work. There will be no need to use the boy's morph while we're there. Don't worry, Jennor. We're fighting. We're doing our part. Get some rest. We shuttle down there tomorrow.>

He walked next door, into his own quarters, vastly larger than mine. I stood with my hands covering my face. I no longer had the need to warm my hands, but I couldn't pull them away.

In less than a month, my life had collapsed. I had thought war was going to be honorable, clean, beautiful. I had thought war was going to be fun. But this wasn't honorable. This was rank, and hungry, and infectious. There was room for no other emotion than utter, unadulterated horror.

Hope was fluttering away like leaves on the wind. Terenia's face, once so clear in my mind, was suddenly a memory I struggled to latch onto. And Father…I wanted nothing more than to have him hold me and tell me how proud he was of me. But he wouldn't be proud. I was a coward. I wanted to go home.

With my hands still pressed hard against my face, I felt myself succumb to the awful time warp of sleep that would only bring my doom to me that much quicker. I could think of no other possibility for the tomorrow. That's all that my future held now.

Doom.


	12. Chapter Eleven: Ax

Chapter Eleven

Aximili

"So you haven't heard  _anything_  from the Sharing? Nothing at all?"

"I'm as concerned as the rest of you," Erek the Chee admitted.

"Maybe they're onto you guys. Maybe they suspect that you're all a bunch of robot double agents. But instead of indulging in shaken martinis and femme fatales named things like 'Maxine Kleavage,' you just play with dogs."

The conversation was a distant din, wound tightly in insulation, kept far from view. I was somewhere else entirely.

 _You can borrow these_ , I had said to her, holding out the clean pair of my underwear. Her face was expressionless, but every other part of her nude form might have been screaming at me.

"Ax? Has this ever happened before, in any other battles with the Yeerks? Where they just seem to shut down all operations? Go dormant?"

She'd put her warm hand on my shoulder as I held the briefs up for her. Gripped my neck to keep her balance. And as she slid inside the pointless garment, my thumb ran up the length of her leg.

Strange, how even in Andalite form, the memory still affected me. It seemed the morphing technology had changed the structure of my mind: deep within the folds and contours of my cerebral cortex, there was a part that was human, harrier, spider, shark. Part that was entirely animal. Perhaps that part of me always would be. And that part was deeply engaged with that shamefully pleasurable memory.

Yet, to fantasize about sexual encounters with alien morphs was more than perversion, more than bestiality. It was corruption on the highest order, complete treason against my race, and—

<Ax?> Tobias asked.

Well, perhaps that was all simply exaggeration.

Relentless excitement charged through me. The kind of electric energy that flexes your muscles, twitches your tail, rears you up on your hind legs. The kind you have to shake, whip, and sprint loose. The slightest annoyance is met with open hostility, the tiniest bit of good news inspires fits of giggling and squirming. I hadn't felt this way in years. Not even when I met the Animorphs and realized that my life had taken an abrupt, core-shaking turn. That was fear, sickness, terrible rage and animosity toward Visser Three. It drained me. It did not overcharge me, like this. I had wanted to crawl inside a scoop and hide. Now I wanted to scream and run and announce that I was very much alive.

It had been two months and the feeling had yet to ebb in the slightest.

<Hey guys, since Ax is not currently tuned in, I do have some news that everyone might find interesting—>

<No, Jake,> I interrupted quickly. <I mean…well, there was the Lysidian outpost incident, but without the premiere of the Onganchic's latest piece of kabuki theater, and the interfering element of vagabond Ssstram prostitution rings, it is too unlike the current situation.>

The Animorphs stared at me for a moment before Rachel asked impatiently, "So, yes or no, should we be concerned?"

<They are clearly planning something. But we can do nothing until we have more information, is that not correct?>

Cassie shrugged. "It seems weird just sitting around waiting."

"Like they say, war is 95% waiting around and 5% pissing yourself."

"Nothing we can do yet, then. Everyone just…be sure to stay hydrated," Jake said, nudging Marco in the ribs. "So, Tobias? What's your news?"

I slowly, pleadingly turned my gaze up at him. He glared down at me.

<Just, you know, there's this little family of bobcats in the forest. The kittens are, um, cute. Thought Cassie might be interested.>

She smiled and nodded in thanks.

The meeting ended and Tobias and I slowly made our way back to the forest.

<I hate feeling like this, Ax. I feel like a traitor, keeping her from them.>

<She has not interfered directly with any of our operations. And she has, so far, maintained a stable truce with us. If we break that truce, I fear she may follow through on her threat to murder all of you. You no longer consider informing them a risk to that security?>

<Yeah, but—>

<Besides, does she not deserve the same privacy and security that we enjoy? She has done nothing on this planet besides acquaint herself with the dominant species. We have no evidence that she is even involved in the war. Perhaps she is just trying to live peacefully, enjoy the human fitness lessons she engages in, trying desperately not to bring attention to herself. She is my prince, Tobias, and I must respect her wishes.>

I was fabricating now, and doing a rather poor job of it. I held my breath waiting for Tobias to respond.

Tobias said nothing and flew on ahead of me. I felt the strange urge to chase after him in some childish game. But also to ensure his commitment in keeping my prince concealed.

As I have said, I was relentlessly excited.

For a while, I had tried to attribute it to some other factor—a change in the weather, a renewed optimism for the war effort. But nothing could deny the true cause. The girl had crashed into my life with such an amount of flame and smoke that even now, my hearts still smoldered.

It irritated me. Sleep rarely came easily, and my concentration during the morning and evening rituals had greatly diminished. I was always distracted by her. Though it irritated me, the paranoia and impatience were feelings that I could not live without. I did not like it, but it was better than the apathy and confusion that had defined me before.

It was a mistake to allow myself to feel so strongly. I knew this. If she'd been paying any attention to me, she would have disciplined me for performing so poorly in the rituals. They were an indicator of my current focus, a great necessity in battle. But then again, if she'd paid any attention to me, she would have had my absolute focus.

<You think I don't get it, don't you?> Tobias asked, preening his feathers within his tree. <You think your subtle little secrets are beyond my sight. Well, Ax, I'm a hawk. I've got good eyes that are a little too strong to be blinded by anything you can come up with. But, judging by the way you've been acting lately, I think maybe you have been.>

<Blinded, you mean? By what?> I asked, running through Tobias' field, unnaturally hungry for a relatively inactive time in the day. Jennor had not come home last night. I had stayed up later than usual waiting for her.

<Oh, come on, Ax. I'm not the same species as her and even I can tell she's a slice.>

<"Slice?"> I asked. The only image that "slice" called to mind was her long, flawless tail blade.

<You really think you're fooling me, don't you? You don't need to feel bad about it. It makes sense. You had a little case of post-traumatic Estrid disorder, and the next random Andalite to crash-land on Earth happens to be a good-looking, totally insane lady. You didn't stand a chance, Ax-man.>

<I have told you time and time again that I bear no residual feelings for Estrid,> I explained calmly, though my hooves flared and ingested a troubling quantity of dirt at his accusation. I slowed down to clear them of the filth, and Tobias swooped down from his tree to land on a pine branch just above me, judging me with his precise hawk eyes.

<No, not Estrid. Not anymore. All the same, let's be absolutely sure she doesn't try to wipe out humanity with a flesh-eating retrovirus or anything like that, 'kay?> Tobias caught a headwind and went off to hunt.

I had not heeded Tobias' warning, and his correct diagnosis went untreated. What had begun as a small, flimsy hope had progressed into a constant dull aching.

The fact that she rarely returned to the scoop did not help matters.

Her absence was not merely a physical one. Though she spent most of her time outside of the forest, refusing to tell me where she was going or where she'd been, even when she was present, I did not feel the strength of her identity as I had that first night. Her eyes were flat and emotionless, and there was no color in her speech, no images that gave me any hint of how she felt or what she thought. There was no subtext. Her expertise at Form Alpha communication was impeccable. She might as well have been soldered from metal, fueled by battery acid. She was unreadable, uninteresting, and unchangeable.

But I pored over the unreadable text, invested deeply in her ennui, and became obsessed with changing her. Just once, I would break her interminable to-do list, make her pause between tasks, make her see the humans as people, me as more than a tool. Just once, I wanted her to look at me.

I was not an item on her list. She had no reason to associate with me, to burden herself with the inconvenience of my presence. She never looked at me. Always past me, to the next task.

It surprised me, then, when I found her standing in human morph in my scoop after I returned from the meeting in Cassie's barn, gazing curiously at a soap opera on TV.

She was holding a white uniform and a long, green belt with a white stripe down the middle. Having shredded the first shirt and pants I had given her, despite my warning about morphing clothing, she now wore a large, hooded sweatshirt and black leggings, provided by Rachel. I cannot describe, nor do I fully understand, the look that came over the Animorphs when I asked them for female clothing. I'd told them it was for me, so I could better understand the human race, but this only exacerbated the looks. Tobias had rolled his eyes in frustration, but only Cassie, to my slight panic, narrowed her eyes in vague suspicion.

<What is the informational purpose of this program?> She asked. Two months after acquainting herself with humanity, she still preferred thought-speech communication. She refused to eat anything as well, even though I had brought her samples of my favorite Earth foods on three separate occasions. Her mouth remained a pursed, static line.

<It has no informational purpose,> I responded, inching slowly forward in my Andalite form, as though approaching too quickly would cause her to scatter like a flock of birds. <Well, I suppose some people consider it informational, but they're generally the ones who watch far too much of it. That's how I understand it, anyway, they even publish periodicals outlining the plots and the personal lives of the actors. I read one in a grocery store with Tobias, it was purely—>

Her eyes narrowed, and I realized I was babbling.

<A soap opera. It's entertainment,> I summarized. She nodded slowly in understanding.

<Humans devote far too many of their medium-range communication channels to entertainment,> she said, looking back at the TV. The action was taking place in a bedroom. A tall, broad human male was kissing a shorter, thin human female with bright yellow hair. Though he focused on her lips, his hands meandered down her shoulders, over her breasts, down her back. She began kissing his neck and chest. This went on for some time, until the camera appeared to lose interest and focused on the window in the background, from which a jealous ex-lover was watching.

<They are rather obsessed with their own forms,> she noted. Confused by her sudden and inexplicable idle speculation, I realized that this could be a valuable opportunity.

<Prince—Ma'am—Sir,> I stuttered, and her gaze shifted lazily to myself. <If you are not currently busy with anything else, I was wondering—>

<I have returned from the practice of "Tae Kwon Do." I have a lesson in the human "gymnastics" in two hours,> she interrupted. <I am not currently busy.>

<Excellent. Ever since I arrived on Earth, I have been without an Andalite companion. This has been very inconvenient for me, for a number of reasons, including the fact that though humans are not without their good qualities, they are tedious conversationalists and terrible—>

I stopped myself. I was babbling again.

<I haven't had a challenging sparring partner since...> I stopped myself, unwilling to discuss the exobiologist I'd been in love with. <Since my brother,> I said slowly. <I was hoping—>

<Very well,  _aristh_ ,> she said. <As your prince, it is my duty to evaluate and condition your fighting abilities. I have been most negligent in this aspect.> At this, in one fluid motion, she removed her sweatshirt and began to demorph. For the briefest of moments, her human breasts were fully visible, unchanged, and exposed, and their sudden, elastic presence spirited me, once again, back to that day two months ago when she had stood entirely naked in the empty alley by the mall.

It had been exhilarating. It is difficult to understand why. I knew I was morphed, that I shared the same blood, hormones, and compatibility with her, and that this shaped my perception more than anything, but it was not the only thing that surprised me. I was shocked she revealed herself so shamelessly in the first place. She was so skilled at concealing her emotions that I expected her to treat her human body with the same level of caution.

It had been the first time she had ever morphed human. She was too focused on adjusting to the alien body and instincts to understand that she should be ashamed of her form. I was an expert in arbitrary human taboos, and yet, I was only concerned with watching her. It was impolite at the very least, treasonous at the most, disrespecting my prince to such a degree. Witnessing her dark human form emerge from her beautiful Andalite body was captivating, hypnotizing. Pleasurable. Her skin was the warm color of wet sand, her hair was black, shiny, bouncing in natural, coiled springs. Her eyes lost their exotic brilliance but gained a sort of dark mystery and wariness. She was short and thick-limbed, unlike the long, natural grace of Rachel's human morph, but I found her beautiful nonetheless. I did not know why.

Watching her in my human form had a strange effect on me. A pleasant, tingling sensation passed through me, an electric hunger that I'd never before known. Not unlike the desire for Cinnabons, but a little more removed, a little more intellectual. A goal-driven desire, not impulse-driven. I watched her bend over awkwardly, trying to apply the blue jeans which had taken me weeks to master: breasts dangling precariously below her squirming ribs, a lost little puff of hair settled in a wide triangle at the base of her legs. I had never seen a naked human female before. Female nudity was a sensitive, embarrassing subject. Perhaps all human males felt such sensations upon viewing naked females. They should have warned me about this. Perhaps it was not my fault at all.

But now, watching as blue fur rippled down her body, as her two front legs erupted suddenly from her stomach, a similar feeling emerged, a warm tingling that spread throughout my shins and shoulders. Guilt returned, though now there was no excuse about removed, alien forms to temper it. I breathed deeply, attempting to quell the feeling as she completed her morph. Her eyes blazed with flat indifference, and she whipped her tail around in a wide, arced blur.

I didn't want to fight her anymore.

<Do you wish your scoop destroyed?> She asked.

<No,> I responded. I'd given up trying to decipher her non sequiturs. She used them to make condescending points, and it was easier to allow her.

<Then perhaps we should venture elsewhere,> she said. <I assume you are an uncontrolled and undisciplined tail fighter.>

To my surprise, I laughed. <Believe what you must,> I gloated.

Hands folded behind her back, she slowly made her way to the meadow where we both fed, beckoning me to follow with an impatient, glowing stalk eye.

She twirled her tail around in the air, a thick package of muscle and power moving nearly independently from her body. Her long pink blade shimmered in the sun: healthy, marbled, and sharp. My own male version paled, flaking slightly from bad upkeep. I couldn't keep cutting into trees to exfoliate it. I wondered how she kept hers so pristine.

<What form are you planning to use?> She asked as she turned to me.

<I'm not telling you that,> I scoffed. How brazen, how shameless to ask for my exact plan of attack!

<No, I suppose not. It does not matter. I shall know soon,> she said.

<What form are you going to use on me?> I asked, gently mocking her.

Slowly, her eyes passed up and down my body, arms still securely held behind her back. <Beta series, level two,> she responded. My eyes widened in surprise, partly because she had graded me as a bigger threat than I ever considered myself, and partly that she had the inclination to tell me at all.

I suddenly realized what she was doing and laughed. <Pre-combat deception and aversion,> I said, smiling. <You'd never honestly tell me what form you were going to use against me.>

<Why wouldn't I?> She asked. I began to doubt myself, falling for what I was sure was her sly manipulation.

<Because...we're going to fight. You'd be giving me an unfair advantage.>

<We are not fighting,  _aristh_. We are sparring. Training. Learning,> she explained. <Any advantage I give you is so you will learn. Do you know how to prepare for a beta-2 attack?>

I passed my eyes over her once more, not sure I believed her. <You'll aim high,> I said. <For my neck, eyes, and head. I should begin defensively, try and frustrate you so you'll make a mistake.>

<Do you think you can frustrate me,  _aristh_?> She asked, stepping forward and turning sideways, taking her fighting stance.

<Ah, you fight in the open position,> I said, another smile coming to my eyes. <It provides you with a greater range at the expense of vulnerability. Most consider that form archaic. Too dangerous.>

<Most are too cautious,> she responded. She stretched out her tail, each vertebrae locking into place, forming into a long, hard staff. Then she relaxed, and it curled long above her, turning slowly in its ascent 90 degrees so her tail blade was facing me. It twitched eagerly, ready, poised. I watched it carefully with my right stalk eye, just as I had been instructed. It moved without pattern, which was a rudimentary but difficult skill to master. Of course, we hadn't even begun the fight, and that was a skill that decreased with exhaustion.

I tried to keep light on my hooves, tried to remember that speed and reaction were more important than strength. But the size of her blade scared me, and I found my hooves digging hard into the dirt to structure myself, preparing a strong blow I hoped would distract and overpower it.

I stood before her impatiently waiting for her to attack, but she only watched me, her eyes flat as ever, though I could swear there was a hint of amusement in them. Her tail flicked around everywhere, waiting and taunting.

Despite our review of how to defend against form Beta-2, I decided to attack first.

I faced her frontwards, and threw my tail over my head for her chest. Motionlessly, her own blade blocked it, brushing it aside like it was a pile of crumbs on a tabletop. I composed myself and took a step back, examining her movement, trying to find a weakness.

Her main eyes never left mine, and I felt the guilt from before mix in with the fear of her flawless parry, and I was suddenly unsure that I could keep looking at her.

 _Ignore it_ , I thought to myself.  _Don't feel, think._

I breathed deeply and kept gazing into her inscrutable eyes. I struck again, aiming for her flank this time. Again, motionless, her tail blade was there to intercept. I couldn't even fathom how it got there, it moved so fast. Again, she flicked away my own blade. She hadn't moved at all, still standing in the same position she had set herself in. Even her stalk eyes remained static, content to gaze at my hooves and arms.

I felt frustration rise up in me. Twice I had struck to gain some insight into her fighting, and twice she had left me with nothing but humiliation. I set my hooves in the dirt and flung my tail blade at her as hard as I could.

Again, she blocked easily, but this time there was shock to absorb. I saw her tail buckle slightly at the force.

 _So that's how to do it_ , I thought.  _Brute strength._

Before she had a chance to reset herself, I struck again, throwing all of my back and legs into the blow. I wasn't even aiming, just pouring all of my strength into my tail, screaming through the air aiming right between her stalk eyes.

The blow ended up coming down straight over her head. It would have been fatal, bifurcating her brain, had her tail blade not been there as a perfect shield, making a loud, cracking sound that reverberated through the meadow.

My tail blade chipped and got stuck in hers. She took the opportunity to twist her tail in little circles, contorting my tail like a finger that screamed in protest and finally snapped from the pressure. She pulled her blade from mine and took a few steps back, allowing me to survey the damage.

I looked up at my tail blade with a stalk eye. She had chipped away a large divot in the middle of my blade, like a dent in an old fingernail. I swung my tail around, trying to find the muscle she had pulled, but it seemed that all she had done was pop a stiff joint. My tail moved more freely than before.

I looked up at her again, her eyes as flat and emotionless as ever. A thin veil of sweat outlined her forehead and cheeks, and her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically with aerobic breath. I touched my own forehead, feeling sweat drip down freely, much less modest in this thick, hot Earth air. I wiped it away and approached her.

Seeing her physical deterioration inspired a sudden rush of confidence and I decided to try some of the forms she suggested. She turned sideways and snapped her tail up into ready position. I lunged forward, aiming for the middle of her flank, and her tail curled down to block mine. Twitching it in front of her, like she was supposed to, I used her momentum and turned my blade upward, aiming for her throat. She caught my blade from underneath and shoved it back towards me. I took a step back and moved to my right, toward her back, forcing her to change her footing. She circled, facing me the same way always, main eyes on mine and stalk eyes on my hooves and arms.

We continued for a while, attack and parry, until I was exhausted, heaving in saturated Earth air, my lungs craving something fresher and cooler. Sweat poured down my chest, flanks, and forehead, and my shins felt sticky with thirst. I looked up at her, and though she was breathing just as heavily as I, less sweaty, but still clearly exhausted, her tail still twitched randomly. She gave no other sign of weakness besides the necessary ones her body required.

I rubbed the sweat from the back of my neck and gave one more feeble blow that was meant to be strong—she sensed my exhaustion and threw my blade aside with less force than before. She was going easy on me.

<That's it!> I screamed suddenly, overcome with frustration. <This is pointless! Just attack me already!>

<Very well,  _aristh_ ,> she said, and her demeanor changed entirely. A mechanical mania came to those empty eyes, and though I wanted to call it emotion, that's not what it was. It was like a program. A switch had been flipped, and as proper, disciplined, and obeisant a warrior she was off the battlefield, she was fierce, cruel, and effective on it. It was a jarring change, but it made sense. This was what she unleashed, what she needed to keep caged, what she unlocked when the situation called for it. Yet it was unnatural and contrived. She was acting. Pretending. Lying.

Her tail moved faster than my eyes could follow. It whipped around her, making quick, moaning, whooshing sounds, a pink blur in the pale sunlight.

I quickly regretted the challenge, and hot prickles rose up my back. I watched her closely, though it was difficult to keep gazing into those hard, merciless eyes. I watched the base of her tail and her hooves and decided to let instinct take over.

I blocked the first couple of her blows. I recognized that she was using the Beta-2 form, though she was mixing in elements of Alpha-7 and Gamma-4. One instant I blocked a blow designed to slice my neck, the next, I was protecting my shoulder from dismemberment. I fell behind in the rhythms, so that I was just barely catching her tail blade before it met its target.

Finally, I missed.

I felt hot, glowing, screaming pain erupt from the top of my left stalk eye, and it went blind. I reeled backwards, my hands feebly trying to squeeze out the pain, and I felt hot, slimy blood, not yet even dried into stickiness, cover my hands.

But she did not relent.

She continued slicing, her tail moving in astutely preconceived patterns, unreadable and invisible. I felt slices open up all over me, as though something from inside was cutting me open to escape. Despite her clear advantage, she was not going for killing blows. The strikes were random. I tried to keep blocking her, but now that I was half blind, there was little I could do. Finally, with the blunt end of her tail blade, she hit me in both of my shins so fast it felt simultaneous. Lightning struck through my legs, I dropped to my knees, and her tail blade was at my throat.

I blinked out the sunlight and the stream of blood and looked up at her. Her eyes were still hard, green like jade, but they softened slowly after gazing down at me, returning to their flat, emotionless state. She pulled her tail away, and though I knew she had perfect self-control, she nicked me a little.

I kept gazing into her eyes, both too afraid to look away and too afraid to hold it. She was breathing hard, but a final long sigh returned her to her natural state. <You clench your left fist right before you strike,> she said. <The imbalance in your left hind leg surrenders where your blow will land within fifteen degrees.>

I tried to catch my breath, but the throbbing, shooting, spicy pain still ripped through me. I held her gaze, though I wanted to look away in shame. <Thank you, Prince,> I said appropriately. <I appreciate the skill and wisdom you imparted to me. I realize I have much to learn, and I hope you will feel inclined to impart more wisdom and skill in the near future.> My words were rehearsed, a part of a rather pervasive and customary ritual, but she seemed shocked by them. I reached up with my hand for her to pull me to my hooves, but her eyes narrowed, and she only gazed at it before turning around.

<We will train again. You are not unsalvageable,> she noted as she made her way slowly back to the scoop, hands still tucked behind her back.

I morphed to human on the spot and didn't return to the scoop in time for her to leave. I felt humiliated. My nagging desire to see her changed immediately to disgust and aversion, half for her and half for myself. She hadn't just beaten me. If we had really been dueling, it wouldn't have even been a challenge for her.

I sat in the clearing until Tobias swooped down from his hunt.

<You haven't resorted to eating grass and dirt, have you?> He asked

"Hello, Tobias," I responded.

<You all right, Ax-man?> He fluttered uncharacteristically to the ground so he could look me straight in the eye.

"I suppose so." He gazed at me for a while before responding.

<We really have to squeeze this crush out of you, don't we?>

"If we squeeze what is already crushing me, I shall be entirely pulverized."

<Well, then let's blow it up. Some sawdust, gasoline, orange juice. There was something else. Rachel and I saw Fight Club last night.>

"If we are going to blow something up, I'm sure we can find something a little more potent than orange juice here."

<Oh, right, she's got a lot of that...stuff, doesn't she?> His sneer was evident even in hawk form. Tobias had wanted me to peruse her medical box the first time she had stepped hoof off of our land, but I had refused, respecting her privacy and wanting to uphold what little trust our tenuous relationship had produced.

I rose to a standing position and swept off the twigs, dirt, and grass that had accumulated on my skintight shorts. I looked through the forest, hoping to see whether she was still at the scoop, but my human eyesight was too weak.

"Is she gone?" I asked him. Tobias hopped around and peered into the forest.

<Yeah, she took that leotard. I thought it was Rachel's. Where did she get a leotard?>

I made my way slowly back to the scoop. Tobias hopped into the air, gaining altitude so he could fly over the trees. It took him a while to get high enough. By the time he arrived at the scoop, I was already searching.

<You're finally looking for that box, aren't you?> Tobias asked after I had already strewn around what little clothing and human food I had.

"I only wish to see what she has," I said. It was partly true. Such a skilled tail fighter must have all sorts of interesting and useful weapons, and it was inefficient for her to keep them for herself. But our encounter had reinvigorated my curiosity about her, and I felt there was something in that box that would explain everything. I decided to act before the crushing reality of the consequences would convince me not to.

<You don't need to explain yourself to me. I told you to look in that thing weeks ago.>

"Insubordination is a serious and punishable offense," I said. "If she finds out I'm looking, she will be able to administer the appropriate consequences."

<Well, we certainly don't want to give her another excuse to kill us,> Tobias said with a strange, insincere tone.

I tore apart my scoop looking for her things. I spilled stacks of magazines and newspapers, I dug through piles of clothing, and I scattered all the little electronic projects I was working on. I scoured every inch of my belongings, and it took me fifteen minutes to finally guess where she'd hidden it. I felt uncomfortable at the thought of touching her few personal items, because she kept them so pristine and orderly. I was sure, even if I could remember exactly how she had them, she would know I had moved them.

But the box was buried under them, only a few inches below the dirt. The assemblage of the pile and the sureness of retribution from disturbing it were the only thing protecting it.

I swept off the dirt and opened it up.

On top, of course, was her Shredder and holster. Tobias had morphed to human and was watching from over my shoulder.

"Kind of pretty, isn't it?" He asked.

"It is a vastly inferior weapon. I believe you humans would refer to something like this as a 'piece of junk.'" I placed it carefully aside, folding the holster over it.

I dug inside a little more. Folded beneath the weapon, lining the box, was a sheer fabric that I recognized as coming from a standard Andalite scoop—the thinnest waterproof and inflammable material Andalite hands could craft. Since waterproof material was no longer necessary for scoops on Andal, I assumed she had gotten it from another planet. I wondered why she hadn't offered to use it for my scoop; it had already rained several times since she had arrived.

I pulled back the fabric, and gasped at what I saw.

Beneath the fabric was a minefield. Thousands of small, blue, gel-filled balls, floating like a sea of glass beads, covered the remainder of the interior of the box.

I felt myself go still at the revelation. Tobias sensed my sudden apprehension. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"They're mines," I responded. "Explosives."

"They're tiny," he said. "They're just little blue balls, are you sure?"

"I've seen these before," I said. "In the Andalite field manual. You remove small portions of Shredder fuel from their cartridges and repackage it in heat-sensitive wrapping. They explode when the temperature exceeds about 100 degrees Fahrenheit."

"It could get that hot here," he whispered. "She's trying to kill us! The coward can't even confront us face to face!"

"No, I don't believe so," I responded. "This fabric protects them from the elements. Keeps things cool. She doesn't want them to explode yet. In addition, if that was her goal, it would be pointless to engage in such a tedious, sensitive task as repackaging them like this."

"Then what is she doing?" Tobias asked.

"I don't know," I responded. Carefully, I folded the material back over the mines, replacing her Shredder and holster. Despite my panic, I knew I had to stay calm. I reburied the box slowly, making sure the dirt was packed as densely as it had been when I dug it up. I replaced her belongings just as I remembered, though I was sure a spare wrinkle or particle of dirt would give away my treachery.

And then I had to wait.

She actually returned to the scoop immediately following her gymnastics class. Regret welled up in me. I hadn't even considered that our spar earlier in the day had meant anything to her at all, but evidently the little contact we'd had eased her suspicion of me. She almost looked comfortable when she walked inside, sweatshirt and leggings pulled over her leotard. She pulled off her sweatshirt and demorphed.

<Welcome back,> I said once she finished, trying not to sound guilty. She eyed me suspiciously, her stalk eye traveling down my body and then over to her pile. <Thank you,  _aristh_ ,> she responded.

<Did you have a productive lesson?> I asked, trying to distract her from the thought train that was inevitably charging through her head.

She stared at me with her main eyes, and in her silence, she told me she knew everything.

Keeping a stalk eye locked on me, she shoved away the clothes and books that comprised her pile and unburied the medical box. She pulled out her holster, put it on, and placed the Shredder in it carefully. Then she unfolded the cloth, and with fanned, eager hands, pulled heaping handfuls of the mines into her holster.

<Careful!> I yelled before I could stop myself. She glared at me with her stalk eye.

<It is a shame,> she sighed. <I thought we were making progress.>

I wanted to step forward to stop her, an irrational fear that she was about to commit suicide sweeping through me, but her eye kept me back. Whatever plan those mines necessitated had suddenly been accelerated.

When all of her pockets were full, not a single mine out of place, she looked back up at me with her main eyes, betrayed and careful, and gave me a single order:

<Don't follow me. I will kill you later.>

With that, she went galloping toward civilization.

She did not return that night, or for the rest of the week. At first I was angry that she hadn't given me a chance to explain, but further thought led me to realize that there was nothing to explain. She had assumed everything correctly, and the only thing I could do was corroborate her theory. I wasn't afraid that she'd kill me, I only feared that she would never return. In fact, though her vow shocked me at first, it was the only thing that gave any indication that she planned to return at all. Once again, I felt such crushing loneliness that I was distracted in a meeting with the Animorphs an evening five days afterwards.

"I hate to do this now, I mean, I hate to do it ever, but my parents have been bugging Tom for weeks," Jake was saying. "And besides, if the Yeerks are taking a break, maybe we should, too."

I hadn't been paying attention and had no idea what he was talking about.

"It's probably better this way. It feels so weird fighting with one of us gone. I get distracted. Let's shotgun it." Rachel agreed.

"That's not the only thing that distracts you when you're fighting," Marco said. "I know you find my gorilla studly, Rachel. You don't have to hide your true feelings anymore."

Rachel couldn't think of a response and rolled her eyes.

"Are you all right with this, Ax? This isn't really that big a deal for any of us but you," Cassie said. I gazed at her and swept my stalk eyes around to the rest of them.

<I'm not quite sure what we're discussing,> I admitted.

"College visits. My parents want Tom and me to get a leg up. We're only freshman, but they think this saves money. We'll be gone about a week," Jake explained.

<Who comprises "we"?>

"Well his parents got the idea, called my parents, both of us decided we didn't want to go alone, so Jake invited Marco, and I invited Cassie and Tobias." Rachel said.

<You're all going?> I said, looking up at Tobias.

<Think you can man the fort while I'm gone?> He asked publicly. Then, in a private note, he said: <I don't think she'll kill you, Ax, if she does come back. Isn't there something in the rules about princes not killing  _arisths_?>

I sighed. <I will miss you, Tobias, but I'm sure I can handle the girl.> To the rest of the Animorphs: <Enjoy your college visits. I think I can manage being alone for one week.>

"Any trips to the food court without adult supervision are strictly prohibited," Marco said in an authoritative voice. The rest of the Animorphs laughed, but I felt a sickness rise in my stomachs.

Tobias and I returned slowly to the scoop. <How do you plan to go? You can't stay in human morph longer than two hours, and I believe remorphing in the human automobiles may prove unsettling to Rachel's mother,> I said.

<Yeah, and even with a faked overactive bladder, I can't guarantee a bathroom break that periodically,) he said. (I'm following as a hawk. If I get tired, Rachel's going to stash me in the back of the SUV. If their parents get suspicious about me popping up out of no where, I'll just explain that my uncle is conveniently in a bathroom or in line at the dining hall or back at the hotel with food poisoning.>

I shrugged, it seemed a good a plan as any.

<You sure you're going to be okay?> Tobias asked.

<I have gained skill at being alone,> I said. <Please don't worry about me.> Tobias paused, then nodded once and flew off to meet Rachel for the night.

I was just dozing off when I heard rustling in the scoop. In my half-conscious state, I assumed Tobias was digging for something, but then I remembered that he was gone.

I opened my eyes to see Jennor scooped over her medical kit in Andalite morph, holster hanging off her hips, retrieving more mines.

<Don't bother me,  _aristh_ ,> she warned.

<Are you going to kill me?> I asked. She paused and bowed her head.

<Not yet.>

<I'd like to offer my assistance with whatever it is you're planning,> I said. <As your  _aristh_ , it is my duty to—>

<No. I need no assistance. I am not required to allow you to tag along,> she said.

<I respectfully disagree. I think I could provide—>

<Respectfully,> she repeated the same way she had repeated "like" in the alley, turning a narrowed stalk eye slowly in my direction. She was mulling over the word. Considering if I meant it, based on how I'd already behaved.

<No, you're right,> I conceded. <There was nothing respectful in what I did. I apologize for digging up your medical kit without your permission.>

She carefully wiped the remainder of the mines sticking to her hands back into the kit. Then she turned her other stalk eye and watched me with both from over her shoulder.

<Explain your actions,> she whispered.

<I was curious. And worried. You're never here. I never know what you're doing. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.>

She seemed confused, but then settled. <I'm mining the Yeerk Pool,  _aristh_ ,> she explained. <Why did you assume you could not ask?>

<I...it seemed...> I paused. Despite her aloof manner, she had never indicated that I had no right to question what she did. <Can you be more straightforward with me from now on? Can I be included in your plans?>

Her stalk eyes turned to avoid eye contact. I got the sense this was a conflict she had been avoiding.

<I will inform you of what I believe you should know,> she said. <Your mission is with the Animorphs. You are no good as half a soldier in two battles.>

<Don't I get to choose the battle?> I asked.

Something like a smile came to her eyes, but it had that same distant, contrived look that her fury had in our spar.

<We do not choose our battles,  _aristh_. They choose us.>

She rose to her hooves, holster full of mines, and trotted back to civilization.

I made my decision before she had even left my line of sight. Maybe I couldn't choose my battle, but when one was paused, was it unreasonable to engage the other? And, now that the Animorphs were gone for the week, it appeared I had my chance.

I stayed as far away from her as I could. Once she reached the sight of the road, she morphed into her Goshawk, and spent about five minutes carefully adjusting the holster in her grip so she would disturb the mines as little as possible. It would be a heavy burden, but she seemed used to the weight. I morphed my Northern Harrier and followed her to the mall.

Once there, she sneaked in a utility entrance on the roof, and I followed her closely. She was headed for the Yeerk Pool. I assumed she would use the entrance I'd shown her in the Gap, though I was sure, if she'd been there before, she would be aware of others. Nonetheless, I allowed her time to get in before me, and I headed to the McDonalds and planned to meet her underground.

I realized the mistake as I was making it. I knew the Yeerks had installed Gleet BioFilters in their entrances to ensure that the hosts entering were not intruders, and I assumed she had disabled them in one of her previous visits. I did not stop to think of alternative methods for her to enter such a fortress. I was too set on following her, on proving that I was a worthy ally. I was so intent on helping her that the possibility of my presence hurting her didn't even occur to me.

I was halfway downstairs when the alarms began to blare. In my arrogance, I automatically blamed her. I began rushing down to distract the Yeerks so she would have a chance to flee, but once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw her in human morph, facing away, holster hidden from view, a handful of mines in her palm and three Hork-Bajir rushing towards me.

I was lucky in two ways—first of all, it was late at night, so there were very few Yeerks in the pool. A human controller was even sweeping the newly tiled deck of the Pool, shocked by my presence. Second, a small group of humans crossed in front of me immediately before the alarms began blaring, and I merged into their group with milliseconds to spare.

I could not hide there for long, and as soon as a new hiding place presented itself to me, I took it. I dove behind an equipment shack and waited for the alarms to stop blaring.

I pulled my knees into my chest, and soon, the alarms were silenced. My heart was hammering in my chest, my jaw chattering in fear. I was a coward, to hide like this, and I knew that. My prince was under threat, the enemy was mere yards away, and my sense of duty had been entirely overshadowed by my survival instinct. I should be executed for my cowardice. I berated myself long enough to swallow back my disgust and terror and begin to demorph.

I peeked behind the shed as quick reconnaissance, and I saw two Hork-Bajir sweeping the entire cavern, eyes glued to infra-red scanners, searching for the intruder.

I kept looking for the third, but I had no need. Before I pulled back into my hiding place, as two half-blind stalk eyes emerged from my quickly balding scalp, I could smell the rank, sour-milk-and-sawdust sweat of a Hork-Bajir guard.

"How very clever of the bandit to dig so deep," he said before he hit me with the butt of his Dracon Beam and knocked me out.


	13. Chapter Twelve: The Empress

Chapter Twelve

The Empress

The first few hours were full of some of the most excruciating, overt, paranoid politics I had ever witnessed.

But I suppose that was simply fair payment for the fun I had afterward.

As soon as I stepped out of the projection room, I felt better. The twisting stress in my stomach melted away. I felt exhausted—not just mentally, from the stress of addressing everyone in the Empire, but physically, from a real desire for sleep. I breathed deeply, and my chest experienced that soft, heavy relaxation that presomulant breathing creates. My eyes felt heavy, the muscles in my upper body relaxed, and my legs felt stiff and difficult to move. My body wanted to rest.

Terenia was still sobbing quietly in my head. I felt a stroke of pity for her, but not much more than that. I breathed deeply again, and the depth of the breath stretched all the way into an Andalite yawn—I closed my eyes, and stretched my arms high above my head, feeling my ribs and lungs spasm in relaxation, tiny rivulets of air working into the flesh.

I turned a corner and spotted Nagrit. He did not look so relaxed.

"That was unwise, sir," he said in a sharp whisper.

I responded, allowing my tail and stalk eyes to droop as I slowly made my way back to my quarters.

"The Council is already up in arms. I've received transmissions from them all; they're demanding to know why you went off-script."

I said. __

_Nagrit leaped ahead of me and grabbed my shoulders with his massive Hork-Bajir hands. I felt the blunt curves of his wrist blades pressing into the soft flesh of my armpits, but they did not break the skin._

_"It is everyone's Empire, Terliss," he hissed. I glared at his cavalier use of my given name, but didn't reprimand him for it._

_I marveled at the possibility the words offered. A full-night's sleep. I said._

_"What should I tell the Council?"_

_I turned a fuzzy stalk eye behind me and felt a little guilty for the amount of responsibility I was unloading on my assistant's shoulders. But he was a Sub-Visser and my most trusted advisor. He could handle it._

_I smiled to myself._

_This was much better._

_Why hadn't I done this in the first place? Why had I trusted that democracy, or at least our limited oligarchy, was the most efficient form of government? They'd bungled Jennor's capture, and used what little influence and power they had at every turn, rarely for the sake of the Empire. They all desired the power I had, they all doubted my ability because their arrogance and myopia convinced them that they alone could shoulder the weight. We did not work together. There was constant friction. There was no lubricant in our discussion, only rough sand between the pistons. It was an engine that could not run._

_But I could. Maybe not as fast as a well-oiled machine, but I could run._

_Of course, I'd read history after history and dozens of biographies that outlined the dangers of becoming a true, overt Empress. "Power rises to the head like helium," they'd say. "The ideas of one, no matter how noble, cannot apply to the needs of a multitude." I knew all the warnings, all the problems. That's why I'd avoided such a dictatorial form of rule until now. I still needed the Council and my advisors. I'd be a fool to refuse them. I didn't want to do it alone. I wasn't smart enough or good enough, I needed the diversity of their opinions._

_But I also needed to be able to draw the line. To make the lonely, responsibility-saturated command. That is the one, pure power that comes with being in charge. I hoped I would never have to do it. I hoped I would never have to push them back and pull rank on them, but I needed them to know that I could. Now that my rank was a matter of public record, I was no longer accountable only as Councilor 8._

_Finally, I was the Empress._

_I wondered if my impulsive decision had insulted them too greatly. I was pretty sure I could get them to forgive it, mainly because their positions on the Council were no longer guaranteed. And, suddenly, I realized that was my new job._

_A perfectly political trapeze act. Balancing threat and thanks, truth and innuendo, praise and retribution. I would have to make them fit into my new plan. They would not do so willingly. I needed them both proud to be working for me and paranoid that I'd turn against them._

_This was work. This was a job worth doing right._

_I got to my quarters and dimmed the lights. I closed my hooves, and as I did, I felt my body succumb even more deeply to its own desire for respite. That obligatory period of half-dreams, hypnogogia comprised of ridiculous imagery and illogical thoughts that feel so right and true in their own way, lasted mere seconds. Within five minutes, I was revisiting the fearful and fantastical world of my own subconscious—a place I hadn't seen for any real length of time in months._

_I slept for six solid hours._

_Though I'd hoped to reclaim some of the time I'd lost, the reminder of my act and the apprehension from having to deal with its consequences invaded my dreams and forced me back to consciousness._

_Nagrit was standing outside my room, waiting for me to wake up. His form was slumped and his eyes were soft and ringed. It was clear he hadn't even attempted to sleep._

_I said to him._

_"Sir," he said, his discontentment evident in his speech. As someone who normally displayed perfect loyalty, I could only assume this was deliberate._

_I asked. Nagrit sighed._

_"Eleven-hundred," he responded, standing straight and cocking the stiffness out of his neck._

_"It's only 0400, sir."_

_"It was the time which was agreed upon. You were not here to deliver an imperial mandate, so we had to work together and compromise."_

_I sighed. I had wanted to deal with the Council before Nagrit, but he seemed intent on foiling my plans._

_I ordered._

_"You were supposed to be different," he said, not bothering to confirm that this was off-the-record. "For years, I believed you would rule the Empire with fairness and efficiency. You're not stupid, so I assumed you realized that meant you'd be cooperating with other people."_

_I said._

_"Then why expose yourself?"_

_A pained look came to his expression. He bowed his head in resignation._

_"It is a fear I share," he admitted._

_"That's not what I meant, Terliss," he whispered, looking up at me again, orange eyes glowing strangely._

_Terenia mumbled suddenly. I followed her train of thought to decipher what she meant._

_I responded._

__Terenia said with a little more gusto._ _

__I ignored her and reviewed with Nagrit what each Council member had said._ _

__Their concerns were fair and unoriginal. Seasoned politicians, they avoided revealing their true points of contention and instead focused on issues of "trust" and "faith" that I had apparently destroyed in all of them. No one could believe me anymore, no one could trust that I listened to anything they said or cared about their opinions at all. So much of my work on the Council felt like babysitting four-year-olds._ _

__It was easy, then, to address them all._ _

__I said to them all at first._ _

__Their projections glowed with rage, and after a second of perfect stillness, they erupted in anger._ _

__I let them go for a few minutes. Their anger would not subside entirely, but these discussions would be much easier if pent-up frustration didn't force constant interruptions. Hork-Bajir growls and barks mixed with Taxxon hissing and shrieking and human shouting. I even heard the Gedd rumbling in discontentment._ _

__Before too long, enough of the arguing died down to leave two distinct voices still rambling—Sessil, the human, and a ruthless Hork-Bajir named Seert 115. I looked back at Nagrit with a stalk eye and he nodded. These were the two whose complaints to him had been filled with lightly veiled innuendo that I should tender my resignation._ _

__"—a travesty of the highest degree, an absolute effrontery to the carefully designed rules of government—"_ _

__"—like a mutiny, or an internal revolution, or a coup—"_ _

__I finally said in a slow, soft voice that betrayed no hint of apprehension or impatience._ _

__That shut both of them up immediately. The floor was mine again, and I did not pause any amount of time relinquish it._ _

__I assured the Council,_ _

__They murmured softly, looking at each other in silent communications that I could only assume were continuations of previous conversations. I noted which eyes gazed at which, which alliances could become trouble down the line. Nagrit nodded again, noting the same thing._ _

__"Yes," Sessil finally trilled. "Explain yourself."_ _

__

__"You did," A Taxxon accused._ _

__I smiled._ _

__The Council shifted uncomfortably._ _

__

__Now I allowed a pause. Glee filled me when no one said anything. My point was coming across quite nicely._ _

__

__"You really expect us to believe that you revealed yourself just to be held accountable?" Seert scoffed through a greatly scarred Hork-Bajir beak._ _

__I snapped. _I continued.__ _

___"Shall we limit your absolute rule to that mission then?" Sessil asked, displaying a surprising amount of rationality. "Perhaps it was wrong of us to take it from you. We've never interfered in those personal missions before."_ _ _

___I considered this for a moment. I said._ _ _

___I didn't know if they bought it. I certainly didn't buy it. But none of them rebuked._ _ _

___I said, glancing at Seert, who narrowed his eyes._ _ _

___I saw a wry smile come to the human's lips._ _ _

___"Glad you showed up to play," he said._ _ _

___I smiled back. I said._ _ _

___"My teams have been observing their behavior all night," Krister 632, head of communications, said. "Despite moving a small fleet of fighters to the winter side of Sector 253 YS-29531-2, they've done nothing out of the ordinary."_ _ _

___ _

___"Is this fear or efficiency talking?" Seert taunted._ _ _

___I responded._ _ _

___"I doubt they like any aspect of our having broken their defenses," Guttill 221 muttered._ _ _

___ _

___Guttill shrugged in an uninterested way. "Then we've accomplished two unprecedented feats in less than two years," he said. "A successful mission to the Andalite homeworld, and a public Empress."_ _ _

___I reminded him._ _ _

___Terenia scoffed. I ignored her._ _ _

___"A fact you shouldn't have discussed," Vrasst 261, a Taxxon controller, hissed. "To be quite honest, the only problem I had with that speech was the amount of attention you drew to the fact that you considered that mission a failure at all."_ _ _

___"I agree, it was unwise to introduce yourself to the public as someone already imperfect," Lottess 331, another Hork-Bajir consented._ _ _

___"It will take an even more outstanding feat to solidify their trust," Sessil mused._ _ _

___I asked._ _ _

___"No, but I think you did," he said with a smile. I noted the change in tense as he pulled a glowing, scrolling information pad from behind his back._ _ _

___I narrowed my eyes and scoffed._ _ _

___"A plan you submitted to the Council when you were just a Sub-Visser. A plan that never came to fruition, but certainly turned our attention to you."_ _ _

___The tingle of oncoming paleness crawled up my cheeks, sent spikes down my shoulders. I remembered that plan. That overconfident, flamboyant, unrealistic, perfectly attuned plan. That plan was one of my only hidden shames. At one terrible point in my career, I had been young and ambitious and stupid._ _ _

___I saw Nagrit smile, and for a moment, I was sure it was because he was glad I was about to be publicly shamed._ _ _

___"Let's wrangle ourselves a Dome Ship," Sessil concluded._ _ _

___The reaction among the Councilors was not as universal this time, nor was I sure how to respond. Some laughed in dismay, others cheered in assent. Sessil just stared at me, waiting for me to react. Challenging me._ _ _

___I waited for them to calm down, deciding to turn the suspicion on Sessil until I could decide what to do. I asked._ _ _

___"I always did, but some of my colleagues did not agree," he answered immediately, sensing my approach to his challenge._ _ _

___I asked, eyeing the five or so Council members who had rejected the plan outright._ _ _

___They all shouted in agreement—no, they had not changed their minds, and they did not appreciate being blindsided like this._ _ _

___I let them continue to argue amongst themselves while I ran through everything in my head. I had worked hard on that plan, hard enough that even now I was certain there was a more than likely chance it could succeed. I had run it through hundreds of different simulators and diagnostics, and at the point I had turned it in to the Council, it had a 96% success rate. It depended on a number of factors that were unlikely in reality, of course—a rogue Dome Ship with a berth at least 80 lightyears from any other Andalite vessel, a young captain less than 20 years into the service, among other things. But if they would put the energy into the search, perhaps it was possible._ _ _

___I shook my head slightly, beyond the notice of any of them. There was no way. 4% was still too risky. I wouldn't be known as the Empress who attempted the impossible and failed._ _ _

___I looked back at Nagrit. More than any of them, his opinion mattered to me._ _ _

___He was still smiling that grin that had filled me with so much suspicion, but now, I saw something completely different. I saw pride. I'd never mentioned the plan to him before. I'd completed it before he had become my assistant, but it was clear, that at some point, he'd read it. It was clear now, that he'd read it and believed in it._ _ _

___He believed in me. Truly, completely, overwhelming and pure. He really did._ _ _

___I couldn't help but smile back at him, and I felt some invisible, intractable barrier around my heart melt away. Nagrit had always been something of a shameful comfort, a selfish need. He'd made me awkward in those early weeks, but not only because of his strange sense of morality. I liked being around him, because of more than trust and professional compatibility. I wanted him to be impressed with me. I wanted his approval. I felt foolish and self-conscious around him: I berated myself for saying things I considered stupid, I cared how my Hork-Bajir form appeared to his. I looked forward to those rare moments between orders and political theorizing where he and I would share some joke or moment of unstructured conversation. When he would lean forward and wipe sap from my elbow blade or put a hand on my shoulder to usher me through a door. I looked forward to intimate contact._ _ _

___And now, I understood. The depth and judgment of his orange gaze, a mild distraction before, was suddenly something I depended upon entirely. He cared about me deeply, he did approve of me, he liked being around me, too. How had I thought myself so totally alone before? How had I failed to notice what was now so clear and obvious?_ _ _

___I straightened my face, regained composure. I shelved the warm epiphany and tried to ignore its pervading comfort. I couldn't do anything about it now. There was a meeting to finish._ _ _

___I said, raising my voice high enough to interrupt the incessant bickering, ____ _

____The Council erupted, but I stopped listening. My opinion was given._ _ _ _

____Sessil seemed surprised. He'd expected overcaution, cowardice. That was probably the more rational response, but I decided to dig up what little self-confidence I had and try real leadership. No one would believe in it if I didn't. And now I did. Despite the 96% success rate, I was 100% sure it would work._ _ _ _

____The atmosphere seemed to shift once I laid down my sentence. Like all matters among the Council, more than a real attempt to shift the war in our favor, this was simply an exercise in political manipulation and deceit. It would be much cleaner for me to attempt something impossible, fail, be executed for crimes against the Empire, and die within perfectly legal limits than for the Council to actually perform a successful coup. It seemed the five who had initially rejected my plan were actually on my side, unwilling to see me fail. The rest...well, I'd have to keep an eye on the rest._ _ _ _

____The fact that they were all so certain that the plan would fail just made me giddier. I had never experienced such a rush of self-confidence, such a complete disruption of doubt. It made me a little nervous, which I took as a good sign. I couldn't afford to lose all sense of accountability, but I liked the feeling of absolute certainty on this one issue._ _ _ _

____Within ten minutes we decided to implement my plan. Unfortunately, it called for many additional stages and necessary situations, many of which depended on the slow, cyclical movement of the universe._ _ _ _

____We couldn't move ahead for years._ _ _ _

____In the meantime, there was something terrifying I had to confront._ _ _ _

____When the meeting was finished, and all of the projectors flickered and died, leaving strange, low, red underlighting in the conference room, Nagrit turned to leave._ _ _ _

____I said, holding up my hand towards him._ _ _ _

____Terenia said. I scowled at the fact that I could never have the privacy I longed for._ _ _ _

____"Yes, sir," Nagrit responded, turning around._ _ _ _

____I went to the camera and made sure it wasn't recording anymore. This was not a confrontation I could afford to have caught on tape._ _ _ _

____I walked over to him and gazed into his glowing orange eyes, and realized how absolutely foolish I was being. On so many levels, it was entirely reprehensible, but at least it made sense when I had a Hork-Bajir host. I had felt something physical and undeniable then. Raw, primal, evolutionary attraction that could be written off as easily as Taxxon hunger. Yeerks mating with their hosts was no longer uncommon—though at one point it had been taboo, I had put forth a successful argument in the Council that any process that could potentially produce hosts should be deemed acceptable. This, however, was different, deniable. I marveled that I had spent so much effort denying the undeniable and, now that I had accepted it, there was no promise of physical catharsis. Nagrit and I were no longer a matched pair. There could be no physical affection._ _ _ _

____Nagrit continued to watch me, seemingly unaware of the conflict that had suddenly sprung into my head. I felt no pressure to make a fast decision. He would wait for as long as I needed._ _ _ _

_____I blurted before a fresh wave of logic could stop it. But then it came, regret and self-loathing with it, and I averted my gaze, avoiding his eyes. Shame burned in my shoulders and shins. Terenia ed away._ _ _ _ _

_____He didn't respond, and I felt the shame burn deeper. But suddenly, his strong, rough arms swallowed me in an uncomfortable embrace and I collapsed into his chest._ _ _ _ _

_____He only held me for a moment before I felt a splash of pain. I trailed, a response purely influenced by Terenia's past. I pulled away and his wrist blade, already covered in my blood, sliced through the skin on my ribs as easily as if it were a tomato._ _ _ _ _

_____"I'll go retrieve a dermal regenerator," he said, slashing himself in the arm. A common enough excuse for a Hork-Bajir. They were not as graceful as they seemed._ _ _ _ _

_____I countered. I could not order him to stay. This had nothing to do with the Empire._ _ _ _ _

_____"I love you, too," he responded. "What more is there to discuss?"_ _ _ _ _

_____An unstoppable smile emerged in my eyes, and now I called the logic back to quell it. I said._ _ _ _ _

_____"Clearly," Nagrit responded._ _ _ _ _

______I reasoned._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Are there no mistakes worth making?" Nagrit asked, leaning into me to wipe the blood from my cut._ _ _ _ _ _

_______I stuttered, finding some strange comfort in the pressure of his hand against my wound, but Nagrit merely smiled._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"No, I think we'll have to wait for that," he agreed._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"The point of capturing an Andalite Dome Ship is for hosts, correct?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I started._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______He shifted his arm, Andalite and Hork-Bajir blood mixing, and cradled one of my forearms in his oversized hand. He gently ran his claws over the flesh, and goosebumps made the fur erect. "If there are enough Andalite hosts, perhaps I can be the recipient of one."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I breathed._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Terenia whispered._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I opened my eyes and suddenly realized the horrible, possible truth in Terenia's assessment. Had Nagrit been manipulating me from the beginning? Had that smile in the conference room been one of personal victory and not shared? Had he himself suggested the resurrection of my plan to Sessil for the sole purpose of advancing his status?_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I said, keeping my voice low and unsuspicious,_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"That would be a foolish course of action," he said with a laugh, realizing the irony in his own statement, continuing to stroke my arm which was like an infant's in his hand._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______ _ _ _ _ _

_______He grabbed my opposite arm and pulled me close. My arms settled around his massive waist, and I clutched his flesh, pressing my cheek against his cold, reptilian chest. He smelled like rural rainfalls, like mountains and campfires. I closed my eyes and could have drifted off against that smooth, firm, leathery pillow. He bent his long, snake-like neck down so his mouth was directly next to my ear._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"I want you any way that's possible, Terliss. Hork-Bajir, human, Andalite, Taxxon, even. If there was a way for us to enjoy each other's presence without hosts, I would take it. It is unfortunate that nature has given us the capacity for love, but not the physical means to express it."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______It was the perfect thing to say. I closed my eyes again, realizing I didn't really care. If he was this good at faking it, let him continue. He passed his dangerous hands over my face, down my neck, across my shoulders. He pressed the blunt end of his beak against my forehead and breathed hot, sweet breath, nuzzling my scalp like a cat, working to caress me with his head blades as his instinct drove him. There was no desire for it, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was tender. He was protecting me, like a Hork-Bajir male would do for his mate. Even though I was no longer a Hork-Bajir, I could feel that wonderful trust and companionship, a deep-seeded, ancient contentment and security, and I moved my own hands up against his face, responding to the same urges though the result was alien to him._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______This was the only physical manifestation of love we would get for a long time, and for now, it was enough. His chin settled between my stalk eyes, hands resting carefully on my hips, and we stood for minutes until a page calling me to the Bridge broke through the speakers._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I pulled away from him and wiped the dew from my forehead. I responded. The speaker clicked off._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"Not much will change, then?" Nagrit asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______I agreed._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______"I suppose that's all right. The truth is a heavy burden to relinquish."_ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I said with a breathy laugh._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Let me get that regenerator before you go to the Bridge. You're a mess," he said._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I said, rubbing the clotted wound, after he left._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________For almost fifteen years, Nagrit and I were forced to uphold discreet professionalism during the days, only to meet in dark corners and abandoned closets after hours without a shred of comfort or security. It was a difficult existence. His Hork-Bajir sex drive was much more acute than mine, and though I encouraged him to seek release with a member of his own race, he continually refused in some misguided sense of chivalry and chastity. His sex drive was like a sledge hammer constantly bombarding him (I remembered vaguely how difficult it had been at times), and my Andalite sense was like needles, constantly drilling the front of my body and the base of my back. Terenia was greatly annoyed that I made her feel that way, but she didn't complain much, as she half-expected Nagrit and I to seek a physical relationship despite our differences._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The nervous snake in my stomach seemed to be entirely focused on the anticipation of the Dome Ship attack, and the frustrating unfulfillment that went along with it. It no longer disciplined or chided me, it fueled, comforted, and nurtured me. I was sleeping regularly now. Nagrit noted that my color had returned, and I appeared younger. I was eating better and felt stronger. I thought this was because planning focused my energies, gave me purpose, reduced my stress, and improved my health. The snake was allowing me comfort, for whatever reason it deemed worthy._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________As far as the matter with Jennor, I was disappointed that we had heard no news about her, but I didn't let it worry me. The time of capturing her as a harmless, inert infant had passed, and though I was sure she grew more dangerous with each day, I kept reminding myself that she was one person and no god. No single person could stand against the might of an entire species. Myth had not even delivered such an unlikely circumstance._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I felt things were going in the right direction. As part of the plan, we attacked periodic Andalite outposts at the edges of the galaxy to draw their forces away from center. Thin them out. Rarely did any Dome Ship pass outside of 60 lightyears of another ship, but the galaxy was growing daily._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________There was a sector of the galaxy that few Andalite fighters ventured into. A familiar sector to Terenia, as it was the home of Earth. I had a feeling, even at the beginning of the plan, that this is where we would find our Dome Ship._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________When I first heard of Elfangor's cohort disappearing deep into the folds of that sector, I immediately contacted the small armada of ships that comprised my task force. We were hovering near the edges, cloaked and invisible, and if it weren't for the random element of the Andalite fighters accompanying it, it would have been a perfect scenario._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that Visser Three, the moron who would share my council if mutiny ever struck, had shot it down._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Of course, I had to feign excitement, as it was so rare we decimated a direct threat to one of our most promising colonies, but I couldn't help but envy that Visser Three was relishing in the praise that should have been mine. I doubted for a second whether my governing strategy was efficient, if I should have given whole planets to the Vissers, but I got a strange feeling that another chance would emerge._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Suddenly, and without much explanation, a chance did. Almost three years after that._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________"Sir," Nagrit said much too loudly, right as the last few minutes of our shift were winding down. "Check your long range scanners."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I sighed, fidgeting away a rush of prickly desire that crawled down my spine, and brought up the scanning grid._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________A single Dome Ship—old, chipped, with a scuffed, weathered dome, almost hand-me-down—was making a direct bee-line for Earth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I said to him privately._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The task force was ready, almost prescient that it was needed. We folded in like an envelope behind it. Nothing but Visser Three's Yeerks ahead and mine behind._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________About fifty trillion miles from Earth, just as the third shift was ending on the Andalite vessel, we struck._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I boarded a heavily cloaked Bug Fighter with two expert Taxxon pilots. Carefully, silently, we flew right up against the Dome Ship, clipping along steadily through normal space. Fear washed through my hearts and gripped my bowels. What if they decided to ignore protocol and jump to Zero-Space with us in their wake? What if they performed a full short-range scan and caught whiff of us? It was suicide, what we were doing. It was like stepping right in front of a cannon to perform sabotage, while the fuse-lighter just happened to be momentarily blinded by sunrise._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________But the first step in our mission was a success. We crippled the Bridge-based communications with our Bug Fighter. Amazing how simple it was—the Dome Ship model was old enough that we had acquired precise schematics that told us exactly what wire to cut. Not to mention their scanners were years out of date. Once we did, I could only hope that the skeleton night crew would not uncover our attack, but even if they did, they had no way of contacting the other part of the ship, no way of calling for help at all, despite shouting at the top of their thought-speech lungs. We jammed the doors, trapping the crew inside to die with the information that could save their ship. I wondered if their shouting would be enough to destroy the whole plan._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The crew would obviously commit suicide in favor of becoming hosts. An unfortunate sacrifice. It was a shame we had surrender that tactical information._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I told the Taxxons, who were hissing and writhing with excitement._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________After the Bug Fighter, the gas ship was next._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________We could never board a live Andalite ship and expect to find survivors. All Andalites harbored that ridiculous opinion that death is better than infestation. Visser Three had become a symbol of hell to them. I toyed with the idea of sending one Andalite host back to Andal as a form of public relations—if I could just convince a few that infestation wasn't so bad, then maybe that was all the weakness we needed to cripple them entirely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The gas ship, a hatchback-sized transport that contained a toy chest-sized vessel of concentrated poison, connected to the ventilation system and hosed in noxious nanites that would take a few hours to circulate. We programmed them to release their toxin once they were perfectly diffused, so that the poison would affect all Andalites simultaneously. The grand vessel kept flying through space, clearly on autopilot, unaware that we were attached and watching. Blind to the leech that was about to suck them dry. Perhaps this was better than Elfangor's ship. Perhaps this was surer._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The nanites were programmed to alert us when they were fully diffused in the hermetic atmosphere. By this time, my task force had been organized into their transports. I was in the lead transport, flanked by two hand-picked blue-band warriors and three Taxxon intelligence officers. I cradled Nagrit in a small portable vessel. Normally, it was his job to take care of me. Now I was directly responsible for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I imagined how terrifying it must be to be aboard the Dome Ship right now. Andalites dropping unconscious left and right. Would the last few to fall be quick enough to act in some way that would foil our plan? The poison we inserted was the most precise we could design, promising to incapacitate everyone on the ship within a three-minute window, but I did well to overestimate the Andalites. I hoped it would be enough._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________If it wasn't, however, there was a flawless contingency plan. We would destroy them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________An hour after the poison was supposed to have worked its magic, I docked to the ship. Taxxons and Hork-Bajir, wearing plastic gas masks, carrying vessels containing the select Yeerks that would receive Andalite hosts, prepared to disembark. I stood, facing the inner hatch, wondering if this would be what I would be remembered for._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I stroked the side of Nagrit's vessel pointlessly, tempering a flare of fear and insecurity. His fate was directly under my control._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________I would get to pick his host._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________My blue band officers flanked me with massive Dracon Beams, and I prepared to give the order to open the hatch. I breathed in my last breath of fresh air, replaced my breathing harness, and said,_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The hatch slid open, and the greatest battle in the history of the war began._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Jennor

Chapter Thirteen

Jennor

The shuttle rattled beyond what my tolerance could allow. Alarms beeped, and the ramonite viewscreen was a wall of atmospheric entry fire. I let out a whine of fear and Trainer shot me a glare.

We were going to crash. I was sure of it.

The pilot seemed unconcerned, hands drifting lazily over compensators and gauges, stalk eyes wafting dreamily over his head. I wasn't sure whether this comforted or terrified me even more. Judging from the strange, disconnected, colorful thoughts passing through his mind, I wasn't even sure he was awake.

I was in my normal form, which is why his mind appeared so open. Though the shuttle flight itself would take less than 15 minutes, the preparations for take-off and endless queue for flight clearance put me too close to the two-hour limit. Trainer solved the problem by offering the pilot a small capsule of some sparkling, purple dust. He accepted it without question, saying, <I'd fly the Abomination himself for that much malsomnic.>

I was beginning to understand the way Trainer operated. He was like the center node in some complicated electrical diagram, delivering and redirecting charges to make the machine run more smoothly. People were not people to him, they were tools, instruments in his complicated orchestra—he plucked the strings the right way, blew just enough hot air into the right holes to achieve the desired effect. Everyone could be bought; no one was immune to the powers of his charisma and charm. He made friends fast, and finished with them before the thought to say "no" even occurred to them.

I watched him carefully aboard the ship. His left stalk eye wandered, bored, but his main eyes drilled into mine. For some reason, I had considered myself immune to his interminable gift, but the more I stared into his eyes, the more I realized I was perhaps his most prized instrument. But when had he bought me? What had I gotten in return for my service?

_That's just it,_  I thought to myself.  _Your service is your reward._

The revelation surprised me, but I wasn't too angry about it. I trusted his confidence in my gifts, and though I wanted to stand out from everyone else he interacted with, what could I do? His talent was too astute. But the knowledge was not valueless. It was a good thing I understood.

<Are you all right, Jennor?> Trainer asked. I'd been rubbing my jaw, deep in thought.

<Yes, sir,> I responded.

He smiled, narrowing his eyes as if trying to probe me right back. <There are times I envy you,> he said with a nearly soundless scoff. I shrugged.

We made it to the planet safely, but over a mile from our destined landing point. The pilot's eyes were heavy and bloodshot, which made them look like they were freezing from the inside. His tail rocked from side to side and his hands were shaking. Trainer put his hand on my shoulder and guided me away.

The planet was a terrible place. The ground was thick and deeply, completely gray, consisting of some material that was not quite water and not quite earth, skimmed on the top by a thin, dusty, polluted puddle. Fog covered the planet in nearly tangible blankets, obscuring the outline of Trainer's face standing four feet in front of me. I winced, feeling simultaneously claustrophobic and utterly exposed. Our ship hovered just off the ground, making thick strands of fog swirl and fold. After helping Trainer strap a large pack onto his back, I gazed at the ground from the end of the docking platform, standing at the tip, like it was a diving board. Trainer came up behind me.

<Jump in, Jennor,> he said. <Stop wasting time.>

I stepped onto the ground and my entire lower body sank.

<Ah!> I cried. <Cold! It's…cold,> I said, adjusting slowly, strutting my legs to provoke warmth, wrapping my arms hard around myself. Trainer followed, sloshing and slurping into the swamp, and winced. <Very astute, Jennor,> he seethed. But then he breathed deeply, composed himself, and thanked the pilot behind us.

<Hooves closed?> Trainer asked, grunting from the weight of his pack which contained some essentials—field rations which we would indulge in sparingly, transmitters which could pull from a reservoir of fresh water in Zero Space. Our mission was to last for 72 hours until we could go back to base. I had my holster slung over my shoulder and fingered my Shredder tenderly.

I nodded.

<That won't work, Jennor, we're going to have to maintain verbal communication. Let's use Form Alpha,> he said, changing his conversational demeanor jarringly.

<Yes, sir,> I attempted feebly. I was no good at conversing that way. Feeling, image, and music came so easily to my speech. He'd attempted to squeeze it out of me in training, to no avail. I wasn't much of a linguist.

Trainer and I stood for a few moments, trying to figure out how to move. Walking didn't work, and neither did swimming, so we had to invent some new motility by combining the two. The ground was a cold, terrible viscosity somewhere between the consistency of glue and clay. If the atmosphere had been clear, we could have seen miles in all directions—there were no trees, hills, or other geographical obstacles to hinder sight. It was a flat wasteland. But as it was, we were swallowed by cold, lifeless muck, smothered by miles of weightless gray blankets.

Trainer finally bucked forward a few times, giving himself some momentum, and figured out how to keep it going.

<I have a navigator. We'll have to walk for a while until we reach our rendezvous point,> Trainer said. He continued sloshing in the muck, wading through it like water, and its disruption made a sick, slurping sound which made me sneer. He sighed. <At least there's air.>

<You're saying it could be worse?>

<It can always get worse, Jennor,> he said. <Now come on.>

We made our way slowly across the landscape, sloshing and slurping as we went. It was an unnatural movement that used muscles I hadn't been aware of—we sort of had to shimmy and thrust, back and forth, using our tails as rudders. Hundreds of hours in the mudpit back at camp kept me as dry and graceful as I could be, which was not very dry or very graceful. I could move, but this mud was so different. The mud of home festered and breathed life. This mud was dark, cold, and dead, like tons of ash infecting oceans of water. It was even more nauseating.

Trainer walked about twenty feet beside me, a dark gray silhouette against a darker gray backdrop. He appeared like some ancient, invisible caravel, his upper body like the mythic figurehead, his tail like an unsailed mast. Like some vessel delivering the dead to the afterlife. We moved slowly, wordlessly trudging and swimming through the desolate, humid atmosphere.

After about ten minutes, we came to a dark figure in the mist. Trainer raised his hand and I surged low beneath the swamp as quietly as I could, curling my tail tight up against my body, keeping only my head and hands emerged, aiming my Shredder just above the surface. For minutes we stood there, sure he was aware of us, in stalemate, waiting for someone to make a move, until Trainer finally headed forward cautiously. He walked right up to the figure, and I followed behind, finger brushing gently against the trigger.

<It's a tree,> he called back to me. <It's petrified.>

I grew from the swamp, walked up towards him, shaking free tendrils of mud, and pressed my hand against the bark. It was cold and smooth and felt like glass.

<What happened to this place?> I whispered.

<I'm not fully aware,> Trainer admitted.

I rested my hand against the tree and felt my stomachs roll uncomfortably. Already I was feeling my constant hunger and raving metabolism. Trainer gave me a small glance of pity, but didn't say anything or offer field rations.

We continued into the gray, silent wilderness, our sloshing movement the only perceptible noise. Finally, we reached the rendezvous point, and our task was immediately clear.

The fog was glowing green here.

He held out his arm and stopped my advancement. <Look at the ground,> he said. I looked down, and, nestled just under the water were infinite lines of slowly flashing green orbs. Each lay in a grid, a meter between them. They stretched all the way to the horizon, cones of hazy light supported by the fog, creating perspective lines that kissed into infinity. I held my breath, thinking irrationally that any sudden movement would set them off.

Silly of me. These mines were inactive. I could dance within them and nothing would happen. I'd only have to worry if they turned red.

<One by one?> I asked. Trainer laughed.

<No, it's automated.> He opened his pack and removed a small mine depositor. Eight little insect legs supported a fat cylinder with a domed antenna on top. Pulling mines from Zero-Space, it would claim a violent grid on the planet's surface. He powered it up, and set it on the ground. It immediately began scanning the environment. Sensing where the line of endless mines terminated, it began its work, shimmying quickly on snow shoe-like skis across the intractable mud, depositing a new mine every meter.

I felt a sudden rush of impatience. Why were we even needed if the drone deposited the mines itself? Certainly it was connected to some Z-Space store, and it seemed to run on some inexhaustible power source. We were standing here pointlessly, watching it. This mission involved no work or fighting at all.

<This mission is seventy-two hours, correct?> I asked. Trainer sighed.

<Sixty-five now,> he said. Noting my dissatisfaction with our irrelevance, he continued, <The Yeerks will come in and destroy the drone if we leave. We just need to guard it.>

I felt my stomachs rumble more violently this time. I was beginning to feel faint.

<Time to eat,> he said, pulling out a half-liter bag full of field rations. I bucked up like I was leaping, pulling myself up out of the mud. I drew a front leg up, settling it on the surface, and opened my hoof. The mud tasted as much like glue as it looked, but I ignored it, breaking through the thin plastic of the pack and happily ingesting its contents. I sighed in relief, and stretched my arms high above my head, relishing in the small comfort that Andalite grass offered. Trainer gazed at me, a strange glint in his eye.

Hours passed, and Trainer's fidgety discomfort grew as the planet rotated slowly, sinking into the dark of night. I knew somewhere up above those clouds, a motionless battle was waging, so deadlocked that the tiny stakes of land that the drone was claiming was the only movement. Were Yeerks on the other side of the planet, mining the barren landscape as well? Staking small, square meters of land as their own? Was this planet just a massive game board, pieces covering it slowly and meaninglessly? I wondered if this was what the war was like everywhere in the galaxy.

I felt warmth on the skin of my arms.

I looked up. Light was breaking through the clouds.

<What is that?> I asked, gazing up into the unexpected gift. I held my hand up to block out the glowing rays. Peeking between my fingers, I saw the beam completely pierce the clouds, making the blackness of space visible, and a few stars.

<You insolent slut, come on!> Trainer yelled, slipping back into Form Beta. I was more shocked by that than his volume, because volume cannot express terror and panic the way Beta can. I looked up and realized he was running away in as much of a gallop as he could muster through the thick muck. Confusion and shock halted my thoughts, and suddenly, the whole world turned red.

Heat and noise exploded around me. In an instant, I no longer felt the mud in my hooves and on my legs. I was flying through the air, burning and freezing and drowning and smothered, but alive.

I allowed myself a few moments of shock, trying to understand what had just occurred. Pain racked through me like electricity, sudden and malicious. I couldn't breathe; it froze my diaphragm and all of my muscles. Every single one of my perceptions—vision, time, self-orientation, temperature, sound, and even memory was wiped clean. For some terrible, immeasurable time, the pain kept striking, each new delivery more disastrous than the last. But, slowly, it faded. Darkness encapsulated me, but it was not uncomfortable. As the pain lapsed, pleasure replaced it. In fact, I felt wonderful. A soft, pleasant tingling sensation undulated through my right side. The air smelled sweet, like flowers. Muscles relaxed, my mind was at ease.

I felt hands on my left side. They seemed panicked. I waved them off.

<Please, Jennor, just keep breathing!> I think it was Trainer. I still couldn't see anything. I didn't really want to. I wanted to concentrate on this wonderful euphoria passing through me in waves, rolling through my muscles, whispering sweet comforts and soft caresses. I couldn't even imagine the pain that had just violated me. Now, there was only this beautiful feeling that seemed somehow pink and shimmery and iridescent. It increased in size, breadth, intensity. I could taste it in my hooves, crawling all the way up my legs. My left side was beginning to fall victim to it. Soon, it would be everywhere.

Time continued to pass, and the comfort kept bubbling up from some deep, unknown reservoir somewhere in my gut. I had no idea what was going on outside of me. Every once in a while, Trainer would say something, but it was garbled and indistinguishable. I could tell he was upset about something, but I wished he would just calm down. He was ruining it.

Finally, his voice went away, and three new voices filled my head. These were much clearer, more defined. Form Alpha. I tried not to concentrate on them, but they were too lucid.

<On the count of three—one, two—>

<Nurse, we'll need a lot more organic redermalizing foam—>

<I can cinch this off pretty easy, go work on her—>

<Critical damage to her left frontal lobe, it's a wonder she's even—>

<Get a tourniquet around that arm, we want the transfusions to stay—>

Before long the talking died down, and the pleasure was almost complete. Only the tips of my left fingers now were untouched, longing for the pink tendrils to reach down and wrap themselves around.

But then, it all went away.

I gasped deeply and my ribs snatched at my lungs. Blood filled my nostrils and poured down my face. Where fingers, hooves and skin should have been were jagged, angry edges that ripped inside and out. The pain was unrealistic, and the only way to deal with it was to imagine what I looked like, what could have possibly happened to me to make me feel this way. I could barely remember the explosion, and everything that happened to me before that was a colorless blur. I whined to go back to four seconds ago; I wanted to feel that last bit of pleasure wrap around my fingers.

<There it is. Good work everyone. Cristex, you need to morph now if you want to survive. Demorph, _aristh_. Now.>

Morph? Demorph? What was going on?

Suddenly two hands grabbed my neck, forcing me into clarity despite the pain. <Did you hear me, _aristh_? I gave you an order—demorph!>

He was saying the wrong things, but I didn't concentrate on that, and I just did what he said. I focused on Cristex and morphed.

I kept my eyes closed until I was sure I was finished. For some reason, I didn't want to see what had just gone on outside of me.

But I could hear again. And smell. And taste. Everyone was panting. The stench of blood and sweat and the balmy excess of body heat was everywhere. My fur was clingy and matted down.

I opened my eyes. The three men with the clear voices were already cleaning up. Pools of blood had collected everywhere—on the ground, in piles of used gauze, on the surgical table I was still laying on. I raised a shaking hand to my forehead to wipe away the sweat, but when I pulled it back I saw that I wasn't sweating at all—blood had collected on the healed skin of my morphed body.

I looked around some more. We were in a medical bay somewhere—a Dome Ship? Home base on the green moon? How had we gotten here?

I gazed around more carefully and saw Trainer standing in the corner of the room. The skin on his face was pale and gray, making the blackness of his eyes even more prominent. I couldn't read him because I was in the wrong form, but everything I needed to know was evident in his large, terrified eyes.

<What happened to me?> I asked him. His stalk eyes quivered and bowed.

Trainer said nothing to me as we made our way back to quarters. I had taken a rag to the sloppy mixture of blood and mud spattered on my face and arms, but it reached everywhere, down my left side, all over my tail. Men we passed in the hall gave me strange, worried looks. I didn't know how to respond.

When we reached our quarters, the War-Prince that had debriefed Trainer was waiting alone, without the transcriptionist. Trainer looked up at him and sighed.

<Tuxebi,> the War-Prince said.

<War-Prince,> Trainer said, too exhausted to uphold the arrogant whimsy that usually characterized his speech.

<Why was your _aristh_ morphed into a little girl on the main planet?> the War-Prince asked, his voice soft and disappointed.

<With all due respect, sir, is this really where you believe your presence is required?> Trainer responded.

<My job is to protect the Andalite people,> the War-Prince explained. <I believe there is one that needs protecting right there.> He looked at me, and I averted my gaze. <Go ahead and demorph, _aristh_.>

I looked up at Trainer. I couldn't disobey a direct order from a War-Prince, but I certainly didn't want to be punished for it by him, either. He bowed his eyes in assent.

I demorphed slowly, returning to my feminine form. As I returned, Trainer's feelings became clearer. Nausea, frigid guilt, a volatile urge to flee. Nothing I really wanted to associate with right now.

<I don't really want or need to know why you brought a four-year-old girl into this war, Tuxebi. You brought us hope, so for that, I thank you, and for that, I'll let you go.>

Trainer looked up at the War-Prince now. Color was slowly returning to his face.

<Just take her home, all right?> The War-Prince turned and left.

Trainer looked at me with his left stalk eye, and for a moment, I pitied him. He had failed completely at whatever plan he'd set into motion. He'd nearly lost the thing most dear to him, though I wasn't entirely sure what that was. His pride? The future of his career? No, none of those things felt right. He'd lost something even dearer.

<What happened to me?> I repeated in a whisper.

<The mirror on the red moon was not constructed to change the weather on the green moon, as we hypothesized,> Trainer said. <They triggered every Andalite mine on that planet with it. The planet is theirs.>

<They're the ones who broke through the clouds,> I said, understanding washing upon me. <I saw the stars, I felt warmth on—>

<Just calm yourself, Jennor.> Trainer sighed.

<How did this happen?> I asked, getting more panicked as my understanding became more complete. <They weren't even hiding the mirror, shouldn't we have known?>

<Those mines only respond to a very rare sliver of photo-luminescence on the spectrum,> Trainer responded. <This sun doesn't produce it. The Yeerks must have manufactured it, used the mirror as a projector.>

<But how did they know?>

<Since acquiring an Andalite host, the Yeerks have gotten shrewder at the game of intelligence.> Trainer sighed, exasperated. <We need to get out of here, Jennor, gather your things.>

_My things._

I was almost too afraid to ask, but Trainer held out my holster and Shredder to me. <They got a few new marks, but they're all right,> he said.

<Oh, thank you,> I gasped, patting them tenderly. The holster was warped with water damage, stained deep purple with blood. I would clean it once we were on our ship.

Then I realized that we were going home.

I was a little disappointed, since my career in the war had been much shorter than I anticipated. At the same time, I was glad I would be seeing my Father again. Now I had my own war stories to share with him. And Terenia. I wanted to hug her, ask for shameful, infantile comfort. I missed her very much.

We boarded the ship shortly after. Trainer had me morph to Cristex again, despite the fact that our cover was blown. I ran my warm fingers over the new dents in my Shredder—my dents, my imperfections. The gun was becoming an amalgam of mistakes committed by my father and me.

<Once we emerge into an area where communication with Andal is possible, is it all right if I contact my father? I'd like to inform him that I'm coming home.> I said to Trainer as he brought the engines of the ship to life through the telepathic interface.

<We're not going home, Jennor,> Trainer responded.

<But the War-Prince ordered—>

<Did he say the words "I order you"?> Trainer asked.

<Well, no, but—>

<This is why Form Alpha communication is a necessary evil, _aristh_. It leaves no room for ambiguities.>

I felt my hearts go cold. <Where are we going?> I asked.

<Somewhere less dangerous,> Trainer growled.

I tenderly touched my forehead again. Three morphs later, there was still a thin, crusty shell of blood stuck to my skin. I scratched a little off and examined the cruddy residue it left under my fingernails. Trainer saw me, and a little of the paleness returned to his face.

<What happened to me?> I whispered for the third time.

<It is unnecessary for you to know. You're all right now. That's what counts, no?>

<I need to know,> I whispered. I wasn't totally sure why. Part of it felt like an obligation—I needed to know what had happened to me to inspire such a look of horror on Trainer's face. The other part was morbid curiosity. What possible injury or blessing could have made me feel so good? Nothing before in my life had inspired such a feeling of physical euphoria. Even remembering the moment that my father had bestowed the legacy of his Shredder onto me didn't feel so wonderful. What had happened to inspire such an irresistible rush?

<How much do you need to know?> Trainer responded, a glint of confidence returning to his left stalk eye.

<Everything,> I said.

<That's not what I meant. What are you willing to pay for that information?> Trainer said, setting the autopilot and turning around to face me.

<Pay?> I asked. Trainer did something strange then, something he hadn't upkept in our limited time alone together.

He shut himself off, like Father always used to, leaving me abandoned and discrete. It was a rare skill, something that only a few people I met seemed to be able to do. Terenia couldn't. Even when I asked her to try, her face would get solemn but I could hear her laughing inside her head. Father maintained the barrier at all times, but Trainer didn't, and seemed to enjoy the fact that I could read him. I wished Father would let me inside, like Trainer did. I wished he wasn't ashamed of me. He hated showing me what he was feeling. I never understood why. It gave me such comfort and reassurance. I liked reading people. I hated being forced out.

<Yes, pay,> Trainer snapped, breaking my self-pity. <I know something you want to know. I want something in exchange for it, no?> Trainer said using Form Alpha. By showing me nothing, he was telling me that he wanted something he couldn't speak or allude to. I would have to offer it up myself.

<What do you want?> I asked. I didn't particularly want to play his game.

<What do you think is a fair payment?> Trainer asked, narrowing his eye at me.

<I...I don't know,> I said.

<Well, let's consider this a moment, no? How will you access the information that you seek?> He asked.

<I thought you'd just tell me,> I said.

<Oh, Jennor, no! You don't want a verbal description of what happened to you, you want a truly developed image, don't you?>

I was beginning to see what he was getting at. A truth I had been too naive to consider.

Terenia had shown me countless memories by allowing me to touch her face. Gazing at her mind through her temple, I could remember any memory she chose to indulge in as clearly as she could. Could it work with Trainer as well? Could I see what he had seen during that strange, blissful time merely by touching his temple? Did I possess a power that worked over everyone?

This thought made me loathsome of it. It was too much like a Yeerk, reading and prying and stealing. I was like a Yeerk.

But that left one question unanswered: How could Trainer know about my power?

<A real image,> I laughed. <How could I obtain that?>

<You know how,> he whispered, serious now, tightening the line. I felt the pressure and was unsure how to continue. Fear from some unknown source welled up in me. What did he really want?

<Shame is not the appropriate reaction, Jennor. You have no control over what gifts fortune chooses to grant you,> Trainer said, approaching slowly. I felt the urge to run, but there was no where to go.

<You want me to touch your face?> I asked.

<That would give you what you want. What I want is simply a fair exchange.>

I wasn't sure whether the information I wanted was worth what he wanted in return. All he wanted to do was touch my face. Why was that so valuable? What did it mean? It had to mean something, but I couldn't imagine what. I longed for Terenia's expertise and advice. I trusted her. I didn't trust Trainer.

Then I realized that my own need to see outweighed all other concerns.

I sighed, began to demorph, and reached my arms up, preparing to touch him. He was taller than Terenia, and I approached more slowly. <Let me see,> I whispered. He grinned, unleashed his control over his emotions, and knelt down.

At first, when I pressed my cold hands against the side of his head, flashes of memory flitted past, much faster than Terenia's, hurried, orderly, and alert. It took me a moment to accommodate myself to the flow of his thought, but then I did, and I could see clearly.

He wasn't thinking about the explosion. He was back on Andal, a younger man, maybe five or six years ago. The suns were beaming, the grass was rich, but all of that was overshadowed by something even more beautiful. He was with a young woman, who moved with a serpentine smoothness, who brushed her hand up, the barest whisper of a cold touch against his hip. Her sparkling stalk eye smiled, she bowed her chin slightly. Was it intentional? Was she teasing him? He wanted—

The vision changed to the dark glue planet. Trainer gazed up at the sky, saw the light shining through. Fear washed through him, thick like mercury. He knew exactly what it meant.

< _Aristh_ , get out of there!> He yelled. Bucking through the mud to put as much distance between himself and the mines, he looked back at me with his stalk eye. I wasn't moving. Cold fear encased his hearts.

I looked so small.

I didn't move, and Trainer gasped one last breath of cool air. The mines exploded, plumes of uncontrolled red and orange blasted all over, stretching back toward the horizon, like the entire surface of the planet suddenly erupted in a cascade. Heat barreled through the air, knocking him over, covering him in mud.  _No,_  he thought to himself,  _not again. I can't lose her again._  Adrenaline surged and pulled him to his hooves. He glanced around frantically, eyes covered in mud, smoke and fog mixing everywhere...

His lungs heaving moist, boiling air, the sky above him curling and scorched red, he charged through the boiling swamp until he began hearing my distant, pleasant thoughts in his head. I was singing, thinking so loudly that anyone around could hear. Something I tried not to do, but once I started it was so hard to stop...

His flanks were getting steam-burned and his ears were ringing and deafened. Heat ripped through the water in pulsing currents, and soon he swallowed some, scorching his tender hoof-esophagi. His tail flailed and slapped, he threw his arms in front of him to clear away the fog and steam. And all the time my song got louder.

Pain screaming through him, air tearing through his lungs, his leg his something warm and soft. He looked down. It appeared like greasy blue-black driftwood, bobbing and rippling the water. But he knew.

_What in the name of Elder am I doing?_  He asked himself.

He turned me over.

My face was gone. Brain was exposed on the left side, skin burned away to reveal moist, smooth wires of muscle and eye. Everything stained and dripping with a mixture of gray, dirty water and blood. My skin was so singed that a blue-stained skeleton, blood vessels clinging like ivy, was visible underneath, cradling steaming, shiny organs. My ribs expanded and settled. Blood was pooling on the ground, diffusing through the gray water. I was missing half of my left arm, the rest of it shredded and twitching. I didn't even look Andalite anymore.

I'd never felt the need to see so much of myself. I'd never thought someone could survive such a brutal—

Trainer lifted my hand away from his head. He held it tight—not painful, but dominating. Then he smiled.

<My turn,> he said.


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Jennor

Jennor

Additional combat training on Earth required a male human morph. Few humans would fight a female.

I retained the DNA from my original  _frolis maneuver_. I used it to craft a male form.

I preferred the human female form. Humans were unstable, prone to excitement, half-blind, and ultimately defenseless. I had grown comfortable enough in the result of my original  _frolis maneuver_. Most combat training programs accepted female students. Gymnastics, the practice of acrobatics and flexibility, seemed to prefer them. Both iterations of martial arts I engaged in, "Karate" and "Tae Kwon Do," accommodated my femininity.

They did require additional prerequisites.

"You need to wear a bra," my Tae Kwon Do instructor informed me after class one day.

"I prefer not to," I responded. I swallowed back the disgust that the human voice caused me. "It constricts breathing and flexibility. I am not required to wear one in gymnastics."

"Yeah, well, you're in a class with a bunch of ten-year-old boys who won't learn anything if they're staring at your flopping chest all day."

I looked down at the twin lumps of flesh. I tested their elasticity with my hands.

"I do not flop," I countered.

"Here. I got one for you. You should come to our women empowerment classes. Tuesday and Thursday at 7:00. You'd set a great example. You've got this, um…intensity that I think the other girls could afford to see. Consider this your bribe." She handed me a stretchy, constricting garment.

I nodded at her. This is a noncommittal gesture used to placate humans. I would not go to extra classes. I required no additional self-defense training. I required something else.

I did not wear the bra to this combat lesson.

This training did not take place in a facility designed for pretend violence. Most regulated human combat programs operated under the limited but socially acceptable mores of "self-defense." Karate, Tae Kwon Do, and every other fighting style I'd discovered did not teach all facets of human combat. I would need to learn how to attack.

There was real violence on Earth. I went to the places humans were afraid to go. I went to a "bar" in the "south side."

The first time I had entered this place, I was a female. I challenged every human to a fight. Each offered me a "shot" in return. I asked them to fight me after I accepted their "shots." One said yes. I drank his shot. He did not fight me.

The second time I entered with the male morph. I challenged every human to a fight. They did not offer me shots. They did not respond. They stared into their glasses until I moved on.

The third time, in male form, I did not challenge the humans to fights.

I simply began them.

A large, hunched man was sitting at the bar with a bottle in his hand. I grabbed the bottle. I threw it on the ground.

"Fuck—shit—bastard!" He growled. I did not respond. I pushed him off of his bar stool. He fell to the ground with a gasp and thud. The glasses on top of the bar rattled. Rage burned through his eyes.

He got up fast. We began to fight.

This is where I learned to punch and bite. Tae Kwon Do limited combat to the feet and legs. Karate focused on the hands. Human bodies had more weapons than this.

He hit me in the nose with his head. I thought this was particularly creative.

I continued my lessons in all areas. There were many forms and practices. Hundreds of fighting styles. I required knowledge of them all. I had become an expert at all forms of Andalite tail fighting. I would become just as expert at using the human body for combat.

I spent the remainder of my time continuing my mission in the Yeerk Pool. That mission was currently successful.

The necessity of housing the Yeerk Pool underground doubled as its weakness. Earth soil and rock is too cold for sensitive Hork-Bajir feet. Large, metal conductors lined both the soil and newly placed tile surrounding the pool itself. Their temperature was controlled by a small panel guarded by a single Taxxon.

My mines would detonate at a tactile temperature of 112 degrees Farenheit.

It had taken weeks of careful artistry to fashion all of the mines. Their girth was contingent on the size of the spaces between the tiles surrounding the pool. Depositing the mines was my next goal. I walked around the pool. The mines slid from my fingers. I drove them into the grout between tiles with my toes. It was slow, tedious work. I tried to cover most with grime and dirt that was plentiful in the large, domed cave. Some were visible. I could only hope no one would notice.

My disguise was perhaps the greatest strength of the plan. The Yeerks could only assume I was an infested host. A small earpiece emitted infrared and Kandrona rays. It was disguised by a thin holographic shield. It protected my true identity from the Gleet biofilters. Andalite holographic technology was not our strongest industry. It was better than the Yeerks'. This left me free from suspicion and the need to defend myself.

There was much in the medkit that the boy had not yet discovered.

I heard the alarms go off. This surprised me. It did not unsettle me. Sometimes rodents or other fauna evaded the hunter-robots. Their presence was more desirable than what the Yeerks referred to as "Andalite Bandits." Both tended to destroy Yeerk equipment. The distraction worked in my favor. I deposited 35% more mines than I had planned on that particular trip.

They did not catch whatever had penetrated their defenses. Exiting the Yeerk Pool was a slow process. Every controller needed to be hand-scanned. There was an aftershock of panic when the dead body of a Hork-Bajir was discovered. His first heart was a gaping, charred hole.

I was allowed to leave without incident.

It was late at night when I returned to the scoop. Large quantities of dust and grime had sullied my clothes in the Yeerk Pool. I stored them on the roof of the mall. They needed to be washed. I flew back to the scoop. I decided to spend some time studying the human television for any hints of Yeerk activity or affiliation. I wore my Tae Kwon Do uniform. I did not have another class for three days.

My human morph was unsettled for some unknown reason. The digestive tract would not calm. It was empty. I was not hungry. It continued to squirm uncomfortably. I felt the irresistible urge to put something in my mouth to settle it. I contented to chew on a cuticle.

Had the boy followed me? I had expressly told him not to, but he had disobeyed me before.

I stopped chewing on the cuticle. I took a deep breath. I was in control of the human body. The stomach settled.

I turned off the TV. I decided to check my supply of mines. I did not want to run out in the middle of the project. I did not want to have any left over. The supply seemed suitable.

I had hidden the medical box next to one of the marked trees just outside of the scoop. The boy had carved a jagged "x" into this one. It was easy to find.

I packed the earth over the box. My Shredder and holster were inside. I should have kept them unearthed.

"Hello, Jennor," a voice said too close behind me. It was the boy.

< _Aristh_ ,> I responded, carelessly wiping the dirt from the human hands of my morph to the white uniform. I resumed a standing position. <Do not address me so informally.>

"My apologies, Princess," he said, breath so close I could smell it. I felt the stomach contort again. There was no thought to quell it.

I turned around to face him. <That is not my title,> I said with attempted force. He was inches away from me. He breathed in hard and ragged. His eyes were wide and hungry. His lips were slightly parted. He was trembling. He leaned forward slowly. His breath was like a torch on my face. He reached up and pressed his hand hard against the cheek, sliding it up and gripping the curls of hair. The hair was a great inconvenience, for many reasons. I had not yet bothered to cut it off.

"No one so beautiful should have such a masculine title," he responded, shifting closer. His face settled into a self-satisfied expression.

<Unhand me,> I said quietly. He removed his hands. He held them up in a gesture of surrender. He gave a little shrug and laugh.

"No need to be so serious, ma'am. You haven't smiled once since you've been here, you know." I found myself calculating the amount of time it would take to retrieve the medical kit and remove my Shredder. The boy's hand reached up to the face again.

With either index finger, he pinched the corners of the mouth. The human eyes were wide, staring at him. He drove his fingers up. "See? Not so hard."

The human lungs inside of me pulled at air with too much strength. I gasped. An admission of surrender. A pitiable human reflex. The boy smiled victoriously. His hands flattened and held the face still. His eyes were inches from me. "Not so hard at all," he said.

With a slight push, he forced me up against the tree. I did not resist. I could not think. His actions wiped all rational thought and logic from my mind. I could only stare blankly at his hard, gleeful eyes. I wondered vaguely what was happening, what had happened, what would happen.

His hands were smooth and dominant. They ran over curves of flesh in pre-ordained routes, beginning in places that made me shiver from the inevitable task of guessing where they would end. He'd drawn a target on me, starting at the circumference and working closer and closer to the bull's eye.

The uniform I wore was a simple obstacle for him to overcome. I hadn't bothered tying the green belt around my waist. Only a feeble internal knot stopped his hands from directly contacting my flesh. He untied it with precision. He opened the robe. He flattened his hand against my waist. He moved his hand down and around, gathering the flesh on my hip like snow. His eyes did not blink, his face did not move. Soon he felt confident. He moved his face forward and down, into my frame, disappearing from view. There was wet warmth on my neck, my shoulder, my chest. His hands continued to slither over my body. They bred like vermin as they went. There were eight on me and more, each discovering a new crevice, planting a new flag. I was losing physical autonomy.

"You smell and taste even more delicious than you look," he sighed, breathing on a wet spot on my neck. His tongue ran across my clavicle. "So many months wasted, resisting this temptation. So many cold, lonely nights, waiting for you to return so there was some chance of...unification."

An involuntary whimper escaped the sensitive human throat. The boy scoffed. He delved deeper. <I order you to stand down, _aristh_ ,> I covered.

A hand slid up the female chest. It carefully investigated each breast as it passed. It finally reached the throat. It gave a soft, threatening squeeze. An uncomfortable pressure. A spurt of panic. He pulled his face away. He touched the tip of the nose with his. He stared into the eyes.

"How can I stand down when I'm already up, Princess?" He pulled back the Tae Kwon Do uniform with one fluid motion. He exposed my upper body. The air was cool and violating. He released the throat and retreated to the breast. He cupped it in his hand. The tip turned hard, like a fist. He continued to stare at me, daring me to resist, contradict, push back.

I couldn't. It was as though he'd turned my key. The engine stopped burning. My mind was blank. Eyes filled with inscrutable images. Body outside my control. I was still breathing. It was becoming more erratic.

I had no plan. No resistance. Nothing left at all.

"Please stop, Aximili. Please don't do this," the voice shattered. Begging and pleading. A terrible, human impulse I had no choice but to indulge. His lips, investigating mine with a leisurely pace, curled into a smile.

The present and immediate future were too horrible for my concentration. My mind meandered down the dark corridor of my past. For some reason, I revisited a day with Terenia, a day between training years, a look of pity on her face as she watched me waiting for my father to return.

How powerless I had felt.

Powerless had once been the only word to describe me accurately.

But that was not true anymore.

His right hand was firm, happy with my breast, massaging with a force that caused pain. The left traveled down, untying the thread that upheld the flimsy cotton pants, fingertips creeping into the waist band.

 _Take control of it, Jennor_ , I thought to myself.

I did.

I turned the key back. Flames leaped through the pistons. My eyes were staring into his. They finally saw what lay beyond.

 _Untrained in human combat,_  I reminded myself.  _Advantage goes to you. Ensure victory. Distract him first._

On daytime television, these situations always ended with the kind of unification he'd already referred to. I leaned into his face and gripped his lips with my teeth. In rhythmic, stiff cycles, I opened and closed my lips over his until I felt the grip on my breast loosen and the fingers now tangled in wiry human hair pull away.

The kiss ended. I did not pause. With as much force as I could spring from my shoulders, I jammed my forehead into his nose.

"Ughgngh!" He moaned. He faltered back. He bent over. He put his hand to his nose. He pulled it away. No blood yet.

I kicked my barefooted leg forward. My toes were stiff. I aimed for his septum. I connected. His head snapped back with cartoonish force. It was very possible I'd broken his neck. I did not hear the snap that would indicate that. I'd jammed the second toe on my right foot.

He landed on his back. I followed. My pants drifted loose, down toward my ankles. I stomped my heel into the sensitive pouch between his legs. He cried out. It was a high-pitched, prickly, unnatural sound. I did not know the effectiveness of hitting that particular organ before my additional Earth combat training. He only knew about the gymnastics and Tae Kwon Do. That would also play to my advantage.

He was crippled, moaning, and subdued. I was not done. I accepted him between my legs, sitting hard on his abdomen, pinning him with my tailbone. The amount of blood he'd surrendered was still insufficient.

I balled my hands into fists and went to work. Once hard in the cheekbone, once up through the jaw, his tongue caught between clapping teeth. He moaned and sputtered red. Feeble arms reached up to stop me, unassisted by reeling eyes. I punched him again in the septum. With a satisfying snap, thin, dark streams began to flow, down his mouth, running along his jaw and off his ears.

I kept hitting him until his flesh was spongy, purpled, veiled in sticky, translucent blood. I kept hitting him until blisters formed on my hard human knuckles. I kept hitting him until after his arms dropped to his sides and his head did not snap back to center after I'd hit him. I kept hitting him until the air tasted like salt and iron.

I stopped and looked down at him. His eyes were swollen shut. A tooth hung at the corner of his lips. His nose no longer pointed forward. Blood trickled from his nose, mouth, and bruised cuts on his cheeks. I scrambled to my feet and dug through the dirt at the base of the marked tree, black crumbs and clumps sticking to my bloody hands. I pulled the Shredder out, dialed down the power, and shot him. That should keep him unconscious for four hours. It was an unreliable weapon and energy discharges were unreliable ways to keep people subdued.

I held the gun at arm's length and looked down at my defiled hands. They were shaking. The gun slipped through my fingers and clattered on the ground.

How had I let this happen? I was in charge. The prince. I must be obeyed. What natural law could have allowed this?

 _Stop the hands,_  I told myself.

_You knew he was a threat when you offered to be his Prince, yet you did nothing to prepare for this. You didn't accept this as a possibility. You denied it. You are weak._

_My hands won't stop._

The trembling had crawled up to my shoulders. I wrapped my muddy arms around each other to calm them.

_Shelve the fear, coward. Put it away. It has no use now. You allowed it to blind you, and it almost destroyed you._

My chest and diaphragm began to spasm. I could not breathe correctly. My face stretched into a contorted mask, lips pulled back from teeth, eyes squinting down hard.

_Get up, Warrior. Get up now and finish what needs to be finished. Overcome by your own indulgent self-pity, distracted by this irrelevance. Starve the Yeerk. You have work to do._

I stumbled over to the tree with the "x" and rested my forehead against the rough bark. I could not catch my breath. Strange, whining, coughing sounds emerged from my chest. Thick saliva gathered at the tip of my lips and escaped my mouth in a long, slimy strand.

_Your father would be ashamed of you._

I caught the breath.

I pulled the arms from each other.

I wiped the saliva away.

I was in control of the body. I was in control of the mind.

A drop of sweat fell off the nose. I wiped it away. I noted that it had emerged from one of the human eyes.

I did not know humans had sweat glands in their eyes.

I realized I needed appropriate material to bind the  _aristh_. He would become a  _nothlit_. It was a necessary sacrifice.

The  _aristh_  heaved and moaned on the ground. I did not know how much time I had. I returned to the scoop.

The scoop was untidy at best, mostly disheveled and unorganized. My search left muddy, clumped handprints everywhere. I could not find much in the darkness. I did not know what his organization strategy was. I spread piles of notebooks and magazines everywhere. I tripped on a stack of cassette tapes. I spun around in circles. I returned to piles I'd already ripped through. I began to panic.

I looked up at the moon. A silver ray of light slipped through the crack between the metal tent pole that served as the structure of the scoop and a wire that delivered electricity to his appliances from the generator he'd constructed. A thin strip of plastic wound around the pole and wire, binding them together.

A wire tie. I recalled seeing an industrious human use a similar method to subdue a prisoner in a human instructional film called _The Usual Suspects_. It would suffice for the _aristh_. I walked up to the edge of the scoop. I tried to unfasten the wire tie. It was hooked into place. I would have to cut through it to release it. It was far too narrow to contain both of his wrists or ankles.

There had to be more.

I continued to search. The  _aristh_ coughed and jerked an arm forward. I kept glancing between him and my search. I spotted something out of the corner of my eye.

A fat, short cylinder reflected a sliver of light into my eye. I walked over. There was a large hole in the middle of the cylinder. It was some material rolled around a cardboard base. I dug my fingernails beneath the edge and pulled some free. It made a loud, satisfying unzipping sound as the adhesive stretched apart.

Duct tape. A strong material. Enough force could break it. It would suffice for now.

I began walking towards the boy. Another metallic glint distracted me. I discovered a pair of handcuffs beneath a deck of cards and white gloves. The handcuffs were designed to keep humans captive. They would be useless on an Andalite. I took the duct tape and handcuffs with me. I would find the key later.

I decided not to keep the boy in the scoop for the duration of his purge. The scoop was too well-trafficked an area. I was aware that the Animorphs would sometimes visit it. They rarely delved any deeper into the forest than that.

The duct tape was around my wrist. My holster and Shredder were around my waist. I handcuffed the  _aristh._ I draped the  _aristh's_ body behind me, arms over my shoulders. I dragged the body into the meadow where we both fed. I hit him in the head with my gun to make sure he would not regain consciousness. Tobias knew the consequences of informing the Animorphs of my presence. I believed he and I alone would be suitable enough to handle one starving Yeerk.

I reached the meadow. I bound the  _aristh's_ legs together with the duct tape. I caught my breath. I realized I was covered in sweat and still topless. My white pants, now stained with red and brown, were only on one leg. I believed I had enough time to rinse off and get dressed. I bottled some cloudy water in the river. I ripped the sleeve off of my Tae Kwon Do robe to press against his swollen face.

I removed my cotton pants and entered the river slowly. The cool water washed the vibrating tension from my muscles. I submerged my head to clear the sweat from my hair.

I needed a plan.

Tactile contact would be necessary throughout the length of his infestation. I had damaged him badly. It was my responsibility to repair his injuries and to prevent the Yeerk from causing him new ones. I would require the dexterity and precision of appendages normally adapted through brachiation. The Yeerk would not make this quest easy. I would need to use force to keep him subdued.

I needed both hands and a weapon.

I emerged from the water and stared at the human hands. How different they were from my Andalite palms and digits. Thick fingers wrapped in ropy veins, powered by wire-like tendons. Forceful, yet delicate. Designed to support the entire weight of the body high in the trees, many generations ago. They were sensitive. They were strong.

They were warm.

They would not invite suspicion. I would have liked my tail blade. I would have my Shredder.

I could only guard the boy as a human.

I considered my current situation more deeply. A single Yeerk had invaded my home with the likely intention of subduing me and bringing my unconscious body to the Yeerk Pool. That seemed like an unsuitable plan. Was there another uninfested Yeerk on his person? Or had he, more likely, informed Visser Three, who would follow him as soon as a reasonably sized army could be assembled?

I replaced my sullied, one-armed Tae Kwon Do top. I returned to the meadow. Grayness was spreading through the sky. The boy was still unconscious.

I could not leave anymore. I divided my plan into two contingencies: until the Yeerk army advanced, I would protect and defend the boy as if they weren't coming at all. Upon Tobias' return, I would inform him of the situation. We could watch him in shifts. I would not waste precious sedatives on the boy or shoot him every time he awoke to keep him incapacitated. Shredder fuel was limited as well. Let him feel the pain.

My presence would be required when the Yeerk army advanced. I could not allow them to take the boy back with them. Tobias could escape. The boy and I would not. I could kill the boy before killing myself.

A little after dawn, the boy began to stir. I kept the wet sleeve pressed against his face so his swelling would continue to diminish. He could partially open his eyes when he awoke.

I pulled the rag away. <Morning,> I said.

"Good morning," he mumbled in response. His eyelids bobbed and dipped.

<I did not mean "good morning." I meant "it is morning," which means you have roughly four hours less to live.>

His eyes rolled into his head. He tried to pull his arms forward. His shoulders shook in frustration.

"You have four hours less to live, too," he said with a frightened laugh. His voice was unclear, garbled in blood and swollen tissue.

<That means much less to me than it does to you.>

"What is this, Jennor? Unbind me."

<I already told you not to address me so informally,> I responded.

He continued to test the handcuffs. He paused for a moment. He thrashed about wildly.

He exhausted himself. He stopped. He rolled over on his back to see me more clearly. "This is because of what I tried last night," He said.

<It is because you are a Yeerk,> I replied.

He laughed, then moaned from the pain it caused him. "You think I'm infested? Really? Jesus, Jennor," he said, rolling onto his front again.

<I know you are,> I said. <The disrespect. Your use of Earth idioms. You had a human host before the _aristh_ , didn't you?>

Disappointment rolled through his eyes, and his mouth bent into a deranged smile. "You crazy fucking BITCH, take these off of me!"

I allowed him to catch his breath. He accepted my knowledge of the truth. <Do you really want to spend the last three days of your life denying what you are?>

"Why do you assume I have three days to live?" He asked.

<Less than that? When did you last feed? Did Visser Three himself pull you from the molten sludge and present you this invaluable gift?>

He laughed again, trying to contort his rigid body into a sitting position.

<No, that's not it,> I continued. <Visser Three grants no charity to his subordinates. He would not sacrifice the leverage of bearing the only Andalite host. You took the boy for yourself. But how could a human host overcome an Andalite _aristh_?>

His eyes looped up toward me.

<You weren't a human,> I concluded. <Taxxon? No, that's unlikely. A Hork-Bajir body was discovered in the Yeerk Pool. That was you, wasn't it?>

"That was nothing. I am me," he laughed.

<The boy killed you. How did you infest him?>

"Such faith you have in your pathetic, lovestruck  _aristh_ ," he said.

I leaned in close to his face. <When are they coming here?>

He laughed again, then opened his mouth wide, reeling. "HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THIS CRAZY BITCH IS TORTURING ME! RAPE! FIRE! HELP!"

Surprise momentarily snatched my head back. I calmly grabbed the duct tape. I pulled off a piece. I held his thrashing head still between my knees. I wiped the blood and sweat from the lower portion of his face. I applied the duct tape over his slick mouth.

<Much more civil to converse this way,> I said, getting up. I shoved his head to one side.

<There is nothing civil about your treatment of me,> the Yeerk snapped back. <You've condemned your _aristh_  to a half-blind human life, a life you've already scarred with massive injury, a life he will no doubt spend as a  _vecol_ because of you!>

I sighed.

Smile came to his eyes and he continued. <This is what you wanted, isn't it? You wanted to condemn him to humanity. To subdue him. To handicap him. To dominate him.>

<I only want you dead, Yeerk.>

He paused for a moment, staring at me. My gaze shifted away. <Then why did you take such pleasure in beating the shit out of me?>

<I took no pleasure in that.>

<The look in your eye spoke differently.>

I had made it a habit not to indulge random spikes of curiosity. It had been a trying day. <What look?> I asked. The Yeerk smiled, a half-moon reflection in the duct tape.

<Everyone's got a poison, Jennor. Warm tits and beer were usually enough for me. Well, back then, at least. Your _aristh_ seems content with gluttony and idle sexual fantasies. But you, Jennor, you desire something much more dangerous.>

<You lost yourself in humanity, then,> I said. <That's why they took your human host away.>

The smile left his eyes for a moment but then returned. <How many people did you need to kill to get addicted to it, Jennor? How long does it take to confuse violence with stimulation?>

Breathing too hard, the Yeerk opened his newly scabbed septum. Blood dripped down his cheeks as thin as tears. A coagulated mist of it sprayed from his nostrils.

<Am I turning you on right now?> He asked.

I soaked the cylindrical cloth I'd used to clean his face before. It was already pink with diffused blood. He watched me carefully, eyes following the hand. I wiped the new streaks of blood away. I attempted to avoid causing him pain. I pressed it hard to the tender cartilage to stop the bleeding.

<Saving it for later?> He asked as blood spread through the fabric like fire.

<You will be dead soon, Yeerk. The _aristh_ will not be. He is salvageable.>

<Three days without food and water, coupled with everything you've already done to him...hmm, it might be close, Jennor.>

<The _aristh_ will survive.>

<You sure about that?>

<I have killed many people, Yeerk. I know death's threshold better than most.>

<And you enjoy sending people past it.>

<I enjoy nothing,> I responded.

<Now you're lying. We all enjoy something.>

I pulled the rag away from his face. I looked into his gleeful brown eyes. <I do not know why I am conversing with you,> I said.

<Because I hadn't hit a nerve yet.> He smiled with his mouth, warping the glistening tape, forcing a fresh stream of blood down his cheeks. I did not wipe it away.

<I have an IV,> I reminded the Yeerk. <I will not allow the boy to dehydrate.>

<Doesn't matter,> the Yeerk said. <You'll both be dead soon anyway.>

I gripped the cloth tightly in the hand. I leaned close to his face.

<When are they coming?>

<Oh, any minute now. The instructions I gave were not precise, but this place really isn't that hard to find.>

<Then why haven't they found it yet?>

<Limited resources. But if we'd known _you_ were here...>

He trailed off and broke eye contact with me. <What do you mean?> I asked. He laughed, spraying more watery blood out of his nose.

<What do you mean?> I repeated.

His head lolled and he rolled onto his stomach.

<What do you mean?> I repeated again. I grabbed his shoulder. I flipped him over. In transit, too much blood gathered at the back of his throat. He began to sputter. His breathing was hiccuped. He gazed up at me pleadingly. I dug my finger beneath the tape and ripped it off.

He coughed. Chunks of constricting flesh and blood dribbled from his mouth, down his chin and disguised his teeth. "Kiss me, Jennor, you crazy fucking sadist," he said, pouting his shiny lips at me. "I'm covered in your favorite aphrodisiac."

I pulled another piece of duct tape from the roll. <Better?> I asked.

"Not quite." He inhaled deeply through his mouth. With more force than I could have predicted, he spit out blood and other viscera in a wide, fanned arc. Most of it hit me in the face. "There, now you're wet in both ways, just the way he likes to imagine."

I placed the tape, still on the roll, against his mouth and wound it three times around his head.

<My mistake,> I admitted, wiping his blood from me with the soaked sleeve.

<Stress will do that to you,> he said.

<I am under no stress,> I responded.

<You really think you have me fooled, don't you? You trembled like a rodent, Jennor, you _begged_  me to stop. You really think I see you as this monolithic, omnipotent  _warrior_ , don't you? You don't even realize what you're doing, how easy you're making this!>

<Do not mention last night,> I warned.

<What was that about, really? Clearly you've been in the war for years, this can't be the first time some eager male propositioned you with less finesse and structure than your foul race normally requires.>

I should have stopped indulging him minutes ago. I should have ignored him. I should have begun some tedious chore that employed both hands and eyes. I was still shaken. I looked at him too intently.

<Ah, I see. History,> the Yeerk continued. <What was it, some overzealous young cadet? Recently? Not recently? Not that it matters much. I hear those wounds take decades to heal.>

<You'd be wise to stop now,> I said.

<Someone near to you? Someone not near at all? Was it during the war, or was that the reason you left home? Was it before you even knew you could fight back?>

<This is your last warning, Yeerk,> I said.

<It wasn't something as cliché as your father, was it?> He asked.

The Yeerk received no more warnings.

I dove onto him. I heard both shoulders snap when I landed on top of him. Pain mixed with crazed glee in his eyes. I wrapped the strong human fingers around his throat and squeezed. I squeezed until the pride in his eyes turned to panic. I squeezed until his flesh turned a ghastly purple color. I squeezed until the tendons in my wrist writhed in pain. His face bloated, veins protruding and filling with useless blood. His eyes bulged. The laughter never left.

 _Stop, Jennor,_  a voice in my head said.  _Do not kill the_ aristh.

_The hands won't stop._

_He will die if you continue. The Animorphs will not forgive you. Nor will the Andalites. They will seek retribution._

_The hands won't stop._

_It is against the law for Princes to kill their_ arisths _._

I released the Yeerk. He gulped great, bloody breaths through his nose. They were insufficient. I ripped open the tape in front of his lips and allowed him to breathe. He coughed, sweat and tears leaving clean tracks through the blood.

"Hello?" A voice called out from somewhere in the forest.

"HAA—" The Yeerk began. I pulled his head close, both of my hands over his bloody mouth.

"Ax? Where are you?"

<Say nothing,> I warned the Yeerk.

"Hello?" The voice continued, getting closer.

I realized there was nothing I could do. I could not render him unconscious for fear of killing him accidentally. I could not stop the inevitable private cries for help he was shouting. I could only hold him there, hidden, until our time diminished.

It was finally time to die.

Cradling his biting mouth in the pit of the elbow, I reached for my Shredder. I could not commit suicide without first putting up a fight. The situation was not entirely hopeless. Just mostly.

The boy's hands, free enough for limited mobility, settled in between the soft human legs. He grunted uncomfortably. He applied as much pressure as he could to the cold flesh of the upper thigh. He delved deeper. Even under threat of immediate death, the Yeerk did not abandon his mission.

A dark figure emerged in my line of sight. His hands sliced through tall stalks of grass like the prow of a ship. A single human. Was this the only army the Yeerks could conjure?

No. A scout. Or a decoy. Either way, he would have to die.

I held the squirming body of the Yeerk. I raised my Shredder. I aimed with as much precision as I could muster.

I fired.

Blue light lanced through the air. It hit the figure square in the chest. The light spread over his body like a stream of water. It held tight. It surrounded him and reformed at the back. It continued its path through the pasture. For a moment, the holographic disguise flickered. A titanium skeleton interspersed with bits of ivory was visible.

"Oh no," I sighed.  _The Yeerks have androids._

The android approached with celerity. He played the part of a human. He was not human. His speed far exceeded theirs. I twisted the dial of the Shredder. I held it against the boy's temple. I prepared to fire.

"Wait! Stop, don't kill him!" The android stopped about 15 feet from us, holding his arms up in a gesture of peace. "We're nonviolent, I don't want to hurt you. I just came here to check on Ax."

<State your name,> I ordered.

"Erek. Who are you?" He asked.

<What are you?> I barked in response.

"An android. A Chee. My people are here resisting the Yeerks," he explained, arms still raised.

<Why should I believe you?> I asked.

His eyes flicked between the boy and me. "Why is he so beat up?" he asked.

The Chee had not answered my question. I shouldn't have trusted him.

I pulled the Shredder from the boy's temple. <He is infested,> I explained.

"Oh, God. Okay. There were rumors in the Yeerk Pool that an Andalite had been caught."

<Rumors,> I repeated.

"Yeah. That dead Hork-Bajir. People were guessing that he'd been traded out."

<Guessing,> I repeated, letting go of the Yeerk. I rose up to my feet. He looked up at me, eyes full of fury now instead of sick humor.

"Is he okay?" Erek asked.

"She was seconds from killing me," the Yeerk spat, blood flaking and crisping on his face.

<And there will be nothing stopping that now,> I responded. <The Yeerks are not coming here?> I asked the android.

"No, no. They don't know where he went," the android said. "He looks really bad. We should take him to my house to clean him up. You could use a shower, too." I looked down at my ripped, bloody, dirty Tae Kwon Do uniform, sullied in all manner of human and earthly excrement. I still held the bloody sleeve in my hand.

<He will be fine,> I said. I wiped the blood off of my Shredder with it. <I will oversee his convalescence when the Yeerk is dead.>

"That could take days," the Chee said.

<It will,> I responded.

"Who are you?" He asked.

<Warrior Jennor-Elacable-Barees,> I responded.

"Do the Animorphs—"

<No, and they will not,> I said. <Their effort is separate from mine.>

The Chee seemed confused. This was not an emotion I expected from an android.

"Do you want help watching him?" He asked.

<No. Thank you, Chee,> I said. <I appreciate the information you brought here.>

"I should stay," Erek said. "You can't handle this by yourself."

<I am more than sufficient, Chee. Continue your effort in the Yeerk Pool. I would appreciate being informed if they piece together what happened. Tobias will return. We both are sufficient.> The boy laughed behind me.

"Tobias is gone," the android said flatly. "They went on a trip to plan their post-secondary education. They won't be back until the end of the week."

I felt stiff tension rise into the human chest. I breathed it away. <I see.>

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

<Yes.>

"Okay, well, call my house if you need help or anything. 412-8520. Got it?"

<Yes, Chee,> I said.

"Erek," he corrected. "Here I'm Erek."

<Noted.>

He gazed me up and down for a moment, shook his head slightly, and turned to leave.

I watched as the Chee made his way through the pasture. His disguise was more human than mine would ever be.

I breathed deeply, lungs filled and exhausted. I had not slept in nearly 30 hours. Now I knew I was alone. I could not sleep until the Yeerk was dead.

The boy was on his back. He was wheezing and panting from suffocation and strangulation. Flaps of ripped tape hung off his cheeks like an insect mandible. I noticed the front of his white T-shirt was covered in a long, tapered strip of blood. He seemed subdued for the moment. We sat in peace for a few hours.

Exhaustion continued to overwhelm me. My Andalite body could stay up for days without inhibiting functionality. I had stayed awake for 87 hours once before. My human form was much more prone to exhaustion. Human bodies obey a very strict set of circadian rhythms. They yearn to sleep eight hours per day, even if they do not exert themselves physically or psychologically. I had expended much physical energy. I passed 35 hours of consciousness. I looked at the boy. He seemed to have drifted off. I walked over to check on him. I could not sleep. I would sit and rest.

His eyes were closed. A long red strand of drool trailed from the corner of his mouth. I reached the hand to his face to check his breathing.

"You should have let the android stay," he whispered suddenly. I pulled the hand back. It was too late.

The loose handcuff came flying toward my temple, and there was nothing to stop it.


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Terenia

Terenia

The minute the cool air hit my face, I felt like I was home. The Empress felt it too. She closed my eyes and breathed in deep. I thought of a summer in Georgia, running through scratchy grass between sheets hung like sails on a line to dry, playing make believe war games with the other cosmonauts and martians.

<I need you, Terenia,> Terliss said softly as she entered the Dome Ship, fingering her Dracon Beam, flanked by her two huge Hork-Bajir. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to wipe the comforting pictures from my mind.

<No,> I spat, flame churning in my belly. <I can go wherever I damn well please.>

<If you'd like to survive long enough to continue daydreaming, then you'll stay here with me now,> she said. <Delayed gratification. A valuable skill.>

I groaned as she made her way through the wide halls of the Dome Ship.

It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before. The ceiling was just like the red and gold shifting Andalite sky. Some kind of trick of the light. A hologram, maybe. It moved in that slow way that clouds do. Everything seems still at a glance, but you can see the changes if you stare long enough. The grass was better than I thought it would be. Like the first summer popsicle, the first winter cup of cocoa. A pleasant taste I'd long forgotten. We couldn't breathe the air yet, but it felt like cool silk on my skin.

For the first time in a long time, even though this wasn't it, I really did feel like I was home.

Terliss took some comfort from this feeling. She was more scared than a turkey on Thanksgiving, but she marched in pace and gave orders to the small battalion of alien creatures in stride behind her.

<If you find any Andalites who have resisted the fumes, subdue and infest them first. We want as few casualties as possible. The poison should last four more hours before it's filtered by the air purification system. We need this ship in our control in two.>

To the four Hork-Bajir right behind: <I want you to go to the Dome. Follow this hallway all the way to the end. Andalite protocol dictates low-ranking soldiers retreat to the Dome in emergencies. See if any made it that far. Infest the strongest first. I'll send more Yeerks if the need arises.>

To the Taxxons following them: <Open each of these quarters and infest the Andalites therein. If the doors are locked, place a guard there and wait until we send someone to manually open it.>

To everyone: <I want everyone on this ship alive. Don't kill out of spite or fury. Kill only out of absolute, irrefutable necessity.>

Thankfully, the ship's layout made Terliss' infestation plan pretty simple. The Pool Ship was set up like a web, with intersecting hallways and dropshafts and lots of labyrinthine passages. The Dome Ship, in contrast, was a straight line, doorways every few yards or so, full of private quarters and storage closets and meeting rooms. Terliss stepped outside of the closest to the docking port and nodded to her two blue-band warriors.

They opened the door and inspected the room. Small, but not too small—warrior's quarters? Not many personal effects, not much hanging on the walls, but the most striking feature of the room was the most obvious. There was a prostrate Andalite, sprawled and unconscious, heaving slowly and deeply on the ground. They looked back at her with a hesitant look. She was holding the box containing her assistant. Would this be Nagrit's host?

For some reason, she shook my head, and they infested the Andalite with one of their own.

She allowed him a moment to wake up, to overcome the poison by squeezing the Andalite's adrenal glands hard as he could. The Hork-Bajir put a mask with a mixture of fresh oxygen and antidote over his nostrils, encouraging him to breathe and filter deeply. He rose slowly, hand to forehead, dizzy from the fumes.

<What does he know?> She asked.

One of the Hork-Bajir grabbed his arm and pulled him up the rest of the way. The Andalite clung to him like a three-year-old on his mama's skirt, grabbing the safe ends of his blades like ladder rungs.

<Know? Ah...nothing. No, nothing. Terrible headache. He's still unconscious. He has…no memories of the infiltration.>

Terliss allowed herself a little bit of relief.

<I think he was one of the first to fall,> the Yeerk continued. Terliss stiffened my neck.

<Let's continue,> she said.

The next few quarters were pretty much the same. A couple groups of Hork-Bajir went ahead to check out more. A few were locked, and hungry, shivering Taxxons stood in front of them, drool spilling from their woodchipper mouths.

It became organized. The fear started to filter away. The poison was effective, the troops were quick and organized, and I got kind of bored.

We opened the next door. One of the blue-banders began a joke about Taxxon politicians.

A furious Andalite with thick cloth taped around his nostrils lunged his tail forward.

<YEERK SCUM!> He cried. It was so loud and undiluted that it stunned all of us. Terliss blocked his tail out of instinct so sheer it may have been me doing it. She didn't have the expertise or strength to beat him, and he pushed forward, blade inches from my face.

The two Hork-Bajir tackled him, piled on top of him, pinned him to the ground for a moment. The Andalite squirmed and wiggled and fought back, striking the Hork-Bajir everywhere, flicking green and blue blood all over his quarters, pumping it onto the ground. If it had been a bigger space, he might have stood a chance. They shoveled him into a corner, and with one large fist the size of his head, one of them knocked him out.

"Are you all right, sir?" One Hork-Bajir asked, heaving, cradling a cut on his forearm. He raised a hand to her, and for a minute, she let him, reminded of Nagrit and the comfort his vicious hands offered. But then she stepped back, staring at him, wide-eyed, sweating, and breathing shaky.

<Infest him,> she ordered. <We can't afford to waste time.>

She put a shivering hand to her forehead and cradled the box in her arms like it was full of chicken eggs. I scoffed at her.

<Thought this all would go down without a hitch, did you?> I asked.

<No, no, of course not. But that look in his eye, the absolute _fury_...I didn't know such hate was possible.>

I laughed at her a little, and stopped when I realized she wasn't joking. <Wait...seriously?>

<I know the Andalites hate us. I'm no fool. I've seen everything you've seen, but that was just...unattainable. I don't think I could ever hate something that much.>

We continued down the hallway. A group of three or four Hork-Bajir were congregated outside of one particular room. Two were inside, holding a thrashing Andalite, one roughly by the tail and the other gently by the temples, while they held a Yeerk to his ear.

<Stop,> Terliss said, approaching. <How many have you tried?> She asked.

The Hork-Bajir stopped and looked at each other, confused. The squirming little Yeerk reached two little gummy grabbers for the Andalite's ear, but the Hork-Bajir holding him pulled him away.

"This is the third," one of the Hork-Bajir holding the Andalite finally answered. "The others, they all died."

<Subdue him and bring him to the brig. We'll deal with him later,> Terliss said. They continued to gaze around at each other.

"You knew this would happen?" Another Hork-Bajir said.

<I hoped it wouldn't,> she responded, tightening my grip on the box. <You, inform your brothers of this new protocol. The rest of you, get back to work.>

That, somehow, gave Terliss confidence. She felt like she could deal with anything. She gave command to her temporary adjutant and decided to review the damage in the Bridge.

Yes. Everything unexpected had happened. It would all go according to plan from here.

<Wait out here,> she told her two guards. <If anyone is still alive, I'd like the chance to talk to them first. See if I can convince them I'm on their side. I'll call you if I need you.>

She tried to open the door. It wouldn't budge.

<Still jammed, from earlier. Going to take hours to repair, I suspect.> she sighed. <There's got to be a—>

<If I may, sir,> an Andalite voice behind her. One of the hosts that had already been successfully infested. They'd given him a mask, and though he still looked kind of woozy, he was awake.

She stood aside and allowed him to work.

<My host was a member of the bridge crew,> he explained as he opened an invisible control panel beside the door. <A junior tactical specialist. He worked third shift. Only got off work two hours ago, actually.> His fingers deftly flew over the controls.

<Will this take long?> Terliss asked.

<No, in fact, I believe that—>

The seal broke like a jar of pickles and a breeze of cool air wafted past.

<Thank you,> Terliss said as she made her way inside.

<Should I—> he asked, but she waved him off, making her way inside.

The smell and a wave of warmth hit me before anything. It's a mostly universal trait to find the slaughter of your own kind horrific. Well, I mean Taxxons may be the exception, but Andalites?

I felt like I was going to vomit. And I didn't even have a mouth.

It was a slaughterhouse. The stench of blood and filth everywhere. Andalites decapitated, cut open like sacks of milk, oozing half-congealed blood, puce- and swamp-colored organs spilled in steaming, slippery piles. And eyes, dead eyes that were vacant and flat, yet frozen in horror and regret…My hand raised to cover where my mouth would be. I don't know if Terliss or I did it.

Hot spikes in my shins and shoulders, Terliss closed my eyes and composed herself. Held a hand over her mask to act like a pointless filter for the smell. She felt faint from the images burned into my forebrain. Hand shaking, she wiped a fresh sheet of cold sweat from my forehead and opened her eyes again.

Still horrifying. Less so now. She'd adapted to it a little bit.

She started inching around, surveying the damage. Blood had spilled everywhere and it was hard to avoid. Vast puddles surrounded the victims, creating a grisly hedge maze, and a fine dew of dark blue blood covered the walking paths. I could taste it. She closed my hooves. She approached one victim, leaning down to a tan, old-looking Andalite with army green eyes, face covered in pock marks and scars. With some tenderness, she wiped away the jellied blood that ran between his eyes from a stab wound in his forehead. He looked important. Maybe he had been the Captain.

Continuing her tour, she began to piece together what had happened. Fear opened the veil that normally kept her thoughts from mine. Attacked by Yeerks, sending unheard messages to the rest of the crew and weapons systems, like a crippled man trying to run, the ultimate decision of the Bridge Crew had been to commit suicide.

What protocol had they followed in the meantime? Had anyone been alerted? Any Andalite on this ship? Wasn't there some back-up communications device they could have used? Wasn't there some failsafe? When had they decided suicide was the only option? How easily had they given up?

That 4% failure rate itched the back of her mind.

She continued to walk around the bridge, gazing at flashing red and purple control panels covered in translucent, saran-wrap layers of blood. One dead Andalite sprawled on top of one like he was taking a nap, except for the expanding puddle of blood beneath him.

She touched everything. She dipped my fingers into the puddles of blood, gauging the temperature. It was still warm, but not very. Luke warm. Like hour-old bathwater. Most puddles were the same. It had happened simultaneously. Mass suicide.

Most of the Andalites had used their tails only on themselves, some more gruesome than others. Some had tried to cut their heads off, stuck halfway at the instant their nervous system gave out, others had slit open their throats, or had driven their tail blades into their hearts from behind. Some had killed each other, tail blades still plunged through a partner's chest or eye socket. All had fallen over, splayed on the ground like spin art.

Continuing to test the puddles of blood, she found one that was still warm. Still alive. She looked up. A single Andalite was lodged under a control panel, hidden from view by his fallen bridgemates, and was gazing up at her.

He was beautiful.

I'd never seen anything like him before as an Andalite. Some of the boys Jennor had trained with were cute, but even then, the fact that I recognized it sort of creeped me out more than anything. I shouldn't be attracted to blue centaurs. That was sort of weird.

But this Andalite…even by human standards, he was handsome. His eyes were deeply, richly brown: big, satisfying, wet, hurt, tired, craving mercy. His jaw was long and broad, and skin stretched over his rugged, perfect bone structure, emphasizing every curve, glowing with health and vitality. His fur was gilded, shining brightly in the overhead, naturalistic light, defining every crease and fold of his rich muscles. I liked his shiny fur very, very much. Enough to know that it was Terenia's liking, not Teresa's. And his tail, his tail was long and big and his tail blade was glinted and sharp and something about that relieved me very, very much. His figure was strong, but not bulky. Broad, but not massive. Powerful, but not frightening. He could protect me without threatening me. Hold me without hurting me. Everything about him was perfect. I'd never felt like this as an Andalite. I wanted to touch him, run my hands over his chest and down his abdomen, press my cheek to his. I wanted to comfort him and ease his tension. I'd never been attached so desperate to someone in my Andalite body. I didn't think that feeling was possible for these cold, proud, distinct creatures. The blood covering everything disappeared. The sky overhead was real, the grass beneath was from home, grown right on Andal. The tedious, unceasing desire I had to eventually return to Earth disappeared. I would have been fine spending the rest of my life in that rancid, horrible slaughterhouse as long as I got to spend it with him.

Love at first sight. Something I never believed in before right then.

<I suppose we've found him, then,> Terliss said to me.

That snapped me out of…whatever it was I was stuck in. That's what she'd been waiting for. That's why she hadn't been so quick to choose a host for Nagrit. She was waiting for me. My reaction. She didn't care what Nagrit's host would look like. She already had a heart, a mind to love. Now she just needed a body, and she wanted it to appease hers. She needed to answer all those troublesome hormones and chemicals, quiet that quaking, unfulfilled desire her love had forced me to feel.

Me. She needed to please me.

But was it me? Were my Andalite hormones, the fact I found him attractive, the uncomfortable, unceasing need to find a mate, was any of that mine? No. It was my body's, but not mine. She didn't need to please me. She needed to please the flesh that we shared.

The flesh she had taken.

The flesh that was hers.

The poison had not been pumped into the Bridge of the ship, so he was still conscious.

<I tried to do it,> the beautiful man sobbed in a desperate, musical voice, reaching up toward me. _Let him touch me_ , I thought, despite myself, and Terliss held her ground as his smooth fingertips grazed my face. <I couldn't do it. They all fell down, screaming in their heads, I couldn't do it.>

<It's all right,> she assured, tucking the canister under my arm and kissing his face with the opposite. <It's all over.> I felt my shoulders scream in assent, felt something rumbling deeper, as my fingers passed over the warm, supple curves of his face.

<But it's just begun,> he said. <The Yeerks are coming. They might already be here.>

<Yes, they're here,> she agreed, and the Andalite continued to cry. <Don't worry,> she said, placing the canister on the ground and holding his face in my hands. <There's nothing you could have done.>

<I didn't do anything,> he said, reaching up and holding my wrists. <I am a coward.>

<You are alive,> she said. <Isn't it more cowardly to run toward death and hide in its embrace of oblivion?>

He continued to sob, and she wrapped my arms around his head, burying him sweetly in my chest.

She allowed me a few moments of bliss, a few moments unstained by the fact that I would soon be an intimate observer rather than a direct participant. I was unsure, but I thought for a small instant, she allowed me direct control, and I rubbed my cheek on the top of his head, a warm, natural spot between his stalk eyes.

<Do you trust me?> she asked him.

<I don't know,> he whimpered. She pulled him from within my chest and stared directly into his perfect, brown eyes. Something almost like shame flitted through me. Was I allowed to look at something so flawless?

<Close your eyes,> she said, and he closed his main ones, which annoyed me more than anything.

<All of them,> she corrected. His stalk eyes closed and drooped.

She ran my hand along his cheek, tracing the tip of his ear between thumb and index finger. I felt him shudder beneath me. <You shouldn't feel ashamed,> she said, grabbing the canister and unscrewing it. <You're a very special person with a very important purpose.>

A troubled look came to his face and his eyes became slits. <Keep them closed,> she said with tender force, and he obeyed.

Lifting the canister with one hand, and holding a kiss on his cheek with the other, she whispered, <I've waited almost twenty years for you.> Carefully, in no hurry, she lifted the canister up to his ear and held it less than an inch away. The curious tip of the Yeerk she so loved came out, and with expertise saved only for the highest-ranking Yeerks, latched onto his ear.

The Andalite realized her treason immediately. His eyes flew open, filled with that same surprising rage she had seen before, and it pained her even more now. She would enjoy him, but she could never erase that look of hatred from my memory.

He tried to get up, but she was holding him down with her arms, her forelegs folded over his. He thrashed around, trying to get up as Nagrit slithered inside of him. His tail was pinned under the headless, drained body of another Andalite, so he scratched at me with his fingernails, and for the most part, she allowed it, holding her hands in front of her face in case he damaged something that couldn't grow back.

But Nagrit descended further, into the ear canal, touching the brain, and as the beautiful Andalite continued to thrash, ice-cold fear filled her belly, the way your mouth waters when you're hungry. Was this Andalite uninfestable too? Had she just sacrificed the grub she loved for something as vain and selfish as good looks? She should have tested him first, made sure with a Yeerk that mattered less to her.

But that wouldn't have been in keeping with the Empire she'd built, where every Yeerk mattered, where no one was expendable.

Fear filled her so quickly that it overflowed and she shivered, shaking, crying in her Andalite way.

<Biggest battle in Yeerk history and you're crying over some boy,> I managed to scoff, only a little bitter about the fact that this intimacy was over for me. <Coward.>

But soon, the thrashing calmed. The breathing settled. Cold determination replaced the empty despair and wild fury in his eyes. A stalk eye turned my way, and even I could recognize that deep, ceaseless gaze that lasted so long it almost became uncomfortable, that gaze that screamed how deeply he cared and loved, that promised how he'd never give up.

<Nagrit?> She whispered, watching that eye with too much hope.

He didn't respond for a moment. Fear filled her again. But then his hand reached forward and grabbed hers.

With a cry of relief, she threw herself forward and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, buried my face in his chest. He smelled wonderful, like a sunset on Andal, and his soft, smooth fur was like sleeping on a sunlit cloud in a TV commercial.

<A moment,> he said, pushing her back slightly.

She leaned back and watched him with concern. <If you can't infest him, it's all right, we'll find someone else, Terenia just liked him so much and I wanted it to be effortless and perfect and—>

<No, that's what I want. I want a moment now,> he interrupted. <One perfect, effortless moment. The rest will not be effortless or perfect.>

She watched him carefully, watched as every quirk she had fallen for emerged—the slightly bowed head always in reverence, the careful motions, too used to a dangerous Hork-Bajir body, the penetrating gaze, the soft touch and gentle devotion. He wrapped my body in his arms, still pinned to the ground under the dead Andalite, adjusting his arms unconsciously like he would if they were covered in blades, and for a period both immeasurable and too short, they just sat, comforting each other, still and in love.

I should have done something, I guess. I should have ruined it somehow. I should have said something crude and humorless, something gross and immature. It wouldn't have been hard. I'd gotten pretty good at distracting little quips over the years. But part of me felt just as relieved as she did that this stupid project she had begun over 15 years ago had finally been a success. I mean, she was the one with the unconsummated love affair, but it was  _my_ body that felt the frustration. So, part of me felt ecstasy and warmth and a sense of conclusion—the pinnacle of existence. It wasn't her success. It was _ours_.

Still, it scared me. Was I only feeling this way because of the raw attraction I felt for Nagrit's new host? Was this sense of relief her gift to me? Or were we fusing, was she swallowing me up more and more every day?

<We should oversee the infestation of the rest of the ship,> Nagrit finally said, stroking where my hair would be, either hours or seconds later.

<No, no, they can handle it,> Terliss responded, hands up against his warm chest, rocking fingers back and forth like he was a piano. <We may never be alone again.>

<Any second your guards are going to come in here, thinking you've been assassinated by a rogue Andalite,> Nagrit responded.

<Then give us these last seconds,> Terliss sighed, heaving lungfuls of his overwhelming, tantalizing scent.

<They don't know about us yet, Terliss, and if they find out...>

<All right, all right, you always kill the fun,> Terliss pouted, getting up, attempting to push the dead Andalite off of Nagrit. She loosened his tail enough that he could get pull it out and rise to his hooves.

Once he stood up, a large gash in his flank reopened, spurting blood.

<Oh Nagrit, you're hurt,> she said with a weird sort of girlish vulnerability, rushing over and pressing my hands against the wound. They didn't do much good.

<It's all right,> he said suddenly, placing a hand on my shoulder. <I can morph.>

She stood back and wiped the blood off my hands, watching as Nagrit changed into a  _Kafit_ bird. He opened his arms wide, feathers dripping from them like water off a drainpipe. Four more wings emerged from his ribs, spreading wide and translucent. His head narrowed and lengthened into a beak, eyes turning hard and orange like a Hork-Bajir's, almost more accessible that way, more familiar. He shrank, Andalite legs and tail withering and changing, mammal to bird. Before too long, he finished: a large, predatory, six-winged bird hopping along the Andalite grass as if it were born there.

<I've never seen someone morph before,> Terliss gasped. <I mean, Terenia saw a few, but those memories are old and incomplete. That was...breathtaking.>

<I wish you could experience it,> Nagrit said. <It's strange, I feel like a bird. I _am_ a bird. But I'm still me. And him. I am too many things right now.>

<Then demorph, don't get confused,> Terliss snapped, a little jealous and impatient. Nagrit obeyed.

<We'll need to clean this place up. Burn the bodies in a shuttle. A shame,> Nagrit said. <Andalites abhor cremation.>

Terliss gazed worriedly at Nagrit for a moment. He shouldn't care about Andalite taboos and superstitions. No, don't worry. He had a new host. It would take some time for him to get comfortable, become himself again. It would be fine.

She left the bridge first, grabbing an extra gas mask from the two Hork-Bajir standing guard in front. Gazing down the long hallway of the Dome Ship, I saw at least four doors guarded by Taxxons. Farther down, teams of Hork-Bajir were still opening doors to quarters and infesting the Andalites inside. She went back inside the Bridge and fitted the mask to Nagrit's face.

<Are you ready?> She asked.

<More than ever, sir,> Nagrit responded.

We left the Bridge and made our way down the infinite hallway.

Thought-speech cries of anguish mixed in with Hork-Bajir grunts of exertion. Taxxons screamed every once in a while, but those screams were becoming more sluggish. None of the sounds distracted from the electric heaviness in my gut, the intense longing to hold and rub and support the weight of the man walking beside me.

<The Taxxons are losing energy,> Nagrit said. <This environment is too cold for them.>

<Yes,> Terliss said heavily. <They won't last the whole day. This ship will have to be run mainly by Andalite hosts. Even the Hork-Bajir won't work at full capacity.>

Nagrit looked over to my knitted eyebrow. <You don't think that's a good idea?>

<Andalites are a volatile variable,> Terliss explained. <We've had Gedds since the beginning, and they're barely sentient. We've domesticated the dimwitted Hork-Bajir. The Taxxons are difficult to control, but we've learned some tricks. Humans could become dangerous if they ever learned more about us, but right now, their inexperience is mollifying their behavior.>

Nagrit nodded in understanding.

<I don't know how this will work, Nagrit. They hate us so deeply, so completely, their entire purpose is currently bent on our destruction...> She trailed off, sighing in a mix of exhaustion and fear. <We can infest them. Perhaps that should be enough.>

<Perhaps it would be prudent to meet the ones we cannot infest. The uninfestables,> Nagrit said. <Perhaps we could learn more about the depth of their hatred that way.> I don't know if Terliss noticed it, but I heard a spike of that intensity in Nagrit's voice.

<Perhaps,> she sighed, hating the uncertainty of the word.

We made our way to the brig, directly across from which was the Captain's quarters. What she would surely claim as her new home. She opened the door.

The brig was really just a hallway that went about 40 feet inside. On one wall, there were six closet-sized cubby holes shielded by glowing red force fields. Two Hork-Bajir had their backs to us, stiffly aiming Dracon Beams at three puffed-out Andalites against the hull wall, muttering threats about blowing them into space and watching them burst like too-greedy mosquitoes. Two were discussing between themselves in the dark, furthest corner of the hall, and the other was glaring furiously at his Hork-Bajir guards, stance set far apart, stalk eyes and tail twitching furiously.

<Just like Andalite arrogance to make one cell block with only six cells…and besides, why aren't they being used?> Terliss asked the guards and Nagrit. The guards' shoulders stiffened a little, but they couldn't respond without letting the Andalites know we had no where to put them.

<They probably couldn't disengage the force fields,> Nagrit said, walking over to a control panel and hitting a few buttons. The force field flickered and disappeared.

<File them in,> Terliss ordered. The Hork-Bajir herded the three Andalites into the cell as we stood back, watching. Nagrit tapped a few more keys on the control panel, securing the field in place. One Andalite in one of those cells would have been uncomfortable, three reminded me of the amount of space that a livestock transport truck provided. They shifted and writhed in anger, fear, and claustrophobia.

<How much of the ship is infested?> Terliss asked the guards as they stiffened in salute.

"Nearly three-quarters, sir," one said. "We sent troops to the Dome to work backwards. We're meeting in the middle."

<Very well. We can expect one more uninfestable, then,> she said. <What is this ship's complement?>

The Hork-Bajir looked to each other, unsure.

<The ship's complement is 429, sir,> Nagrit said privately to her. <Unless you wanted—>

<Right,> Terliss turned to the glaring Andalite, whose eyes were gray like clouds. <Andalite, what is this ship's complement?>

<You can't even infest me! How could a filthy piece of scum possibly believe I'd honor any question you have?> He growled. <You've already sullied this ship with your presence, but my integrity is invulnerable to you.>

<I don't sully, Andalite, I simply reclaim,> Terliss said quietly, still made uncomfortable by his unceasing look of hatred. <Will you answer the question?>

<You cannot get inside my head,> he said with something like a laugh, though fury replaced all mirth. <You can't infest me. I will not allow you there willingly.>

<Just because I can't infest you doesn't mean I will ask for permission to harvest you,> she whispered. <Not everyone is so strong, and I will certainly remember that during interrogation.>

His gray eyes narrowed even further, intensifying the glare.

<It's insanity, then? That is what makes you different? Immune?>

He did not answer.

<What about you?> She asked the other two Andalites. They each glanced back with a stalk eye, but did not answer.

<What do I have to threaten to get you to answer?> She asked them all. Nagrit put a hand on my shoulder, a warm claw cutting through my gut.

<They'll give us information,> he said privately to me. <We'll need to prepare first. You're good at intelligence work, but you're distracted now.>

<Very well,> she told him, longing to reach back and touch his hand. She controlled herself. I whined in frustration.

Nagrit turned to leave, but just as he did, three Hork-Bajir crashed through the door, carrying a middle-aged man—one on each arm, two wrist blades pressed to his throat, the third barely controlling a wild, thrashing tail.

<Number four,> Terliss said with a smile. <Perhaps he'll be more cooperative.>

A Hork-Bajir punched him in the head, and he let out a squeal from his wind pipe. He fell to the soft deck of the ship, rubbing his nose which was now drizzling navy blood. The remaining Hork-Bajir raised their Dracon Beams to the three other Andalites. Nagrit powered down the force field, and they shoved the newest prisoner inside. Tails and arms and stalk eyes all tangled in the claustrophobic space. It had the same affect as a Picasso painting.

<What is this ship's complement, Andalite?> Terliss asked the newest prisoner with a disappointed look from Nagrit.

<Rot in hell, Yeerk,> he spat, blood running down his chest as he shoved away another Andalite's arm. The Andalites quickly righted themselves, standing in tight, collapsed postures.

<Tell me or I'll kill them,> she said, taking her Dracon Beam and gesturing it at the group of two conversing Andalites who smiled defiantly.

The man wiped his chin again, gauging to see if she was bluffing. <You should kill us all,> he said.

<I'm considering it,> she said, cocking the weapon. <I thought I would give you the choice.>

<There is no choice,> the twitching, glaring, gray-eyed Andalite said.

<Then why haven't you made it yet?> She asked. <You're conscious, the poison has worn off enough in this sealed room for you to make the decision. Make it, Andalite.>

He laughed, raised his tail blade high above his head and smiled. <This will never be for you, Yeerk,> he said. He cracked it down hard over his skull. A splintering sound. Blood exploded from his head like shrapnel, hitting the force field and sizzling. I watched his eyes the whole time, saw the stab of pain, saw the life leave them. He crumpled over, blood dripping down his face in thick streams, bursting out with the last two beats of his dying hearts. Even when he hit the ground, his tail was still stuck in his head like an axe in wood.

The newest uninfestable immediately knelt over him, losing his footing and tripping, carefully examining the wound, inspecting for any chance of miraculous recovery. There was none. He bowed his head, eyes closing solemnly.

<One has upheld his responsibility and devotion to the Andalite race,> Terliss said, powering down her weapon. <Perhaps there are things more precious to the rest of you.>

She looked down at the kneeling Andalite, who was still absent-mindedly inspecting the new corpse. <Are you a doctor?> She asked him. He glared up at her with a stalk eye.

<You've made the choice between life and death,> she said. <There is another you have to make now. Cooperation or resistance?>

<What do you think?> He growled.

<You have nothing to lose, then?> She asked. <You are here with no mission, no directive, you have no motivation to stand before me with such reckless audacity?>

He looked away. She smiled in triumph.

<I don't use the word "cruel" to describe myself often,> she explained to him. <I don't like being cruel. But you are an anomaly, Andalite. You are unexpected. When presented with situations I don't know how to handle, I tend to err on the side of cruelty.>

<What do you want from us?> He asked.

<Just cooperation. Not even treason. You're prisoners of war,> she said. <If you're a doctor, then be a doctor. Help your Andalite brethren not lucky enough to exhibit your...strength of will. A Yeerk Pool will be constructed on this ship. I would rather not waste my precious new hosts on hard labor. Build me a Yeerk Pool,> she said.

The Andalites were saturated with fury. But they were considering.

<What is your name, Andalite?> She asked quietly, bending down so she was just inches from his electric green eyes, separated by the force field. <No,> she stopped herself, smiling now. <What are their names?>

One of his stalk eyes gazed over at the other two Andalites. Conversing silently, looks of determination changed to looks of disgust.

He breathed, waving his stalk eyes apologetically, closing his eyes in shame as the other two Andalites rolled their eyes and twitched their tails in frustration. <They are—>

<Traitor!> The shorter one shouted, bucking up on his hind legs. <With one simple defeat, you surrender all of your loyalty! Celebrity has gone to your thick skull, you deficient _vecol_!>

Terliss stood up slowly, rolling her stalk eyes in the direction of the interruption. She glanced back down at the doctor.

<I'm waiting,> she said.

<Trylast and Isstarim,> he choked out. The shorter one flung his tail blade forward, but the taller one put a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

<Very good, Doctor. "Doctor Benedict Arnold," I think I'll call you. It will please your friends,> Terliss said, gloating a little to Nagrit, who shrugged with a smile. She looked at the two remaining uninfested Andalites. <And I don't like Andalite names, so I'll call you "Firecracker," and I'll call you…> She looked at the tall one, who gazed back with a pitying look on his face. Terliss looked away, suddenly terribly ashamed.

<But he looks familiar, doesn't he, Sub-Visser?> She gestured back to the doctor.

<Once we crack the computer, we can answer that question. Personnel records. Genealogies. All the private secrets Andalites have died to protect,> Nagrit said to all the Andalites. <We will find the things he is most unwilling to lose.>

"Sir," A Hork-Bajir entered the brig and looked at me with worry in his eyes.

<What is it?>

"There's, um, a problem. No. A development," he said.

Terliss sighed. <Where?>

"Follow me."

The Hork-Bajir led Nagrit and me down the hallway. Only a few doorways away from the Dome, he stopped at the entrance to a small set of quarters.

"He...well he didn't say anything at first. We were joking while we infested him, talking about where we'd retire if we found Jennor ourselves. I said the Elysian nebula, but Terkix here…well, it doesn't matter. We were just breaking the tension. He was awake, staring at the ground. He was quiet. We weren't sure if he was just having trouble infesting his host, or what, but then he spoke up. He...he told us he needed to speak with you right away. We told him to wait, but he insisted, and then finally he told us why, and I came down here as fast as—"

<What does Jennor have to do with any of this?>

The Hork-Bajir looked like he was about to cry. "Please don't get angry," he said.

<What have you done?> She asked. She looked back at Nagrit, whose devoted brown eyes were now engulfed by curiosity.

<Open the door,> she ordered. The Hork-Bajir bowed his head and complied.

His back was turned when I entered, but even then it was hard to mistake. Tan, aged, stone-like skin covered muscles earned through such hardship and pain that they'd never atrophy. Still so big, his tail was long and heavy, his medieval tail blade hovered motionless over his head. He turned a stalk eye slowly, moving as irresistibly and decisively as the glaciers and tectonic plates he seemed composed of. He was massive, unmovable. A planet. Terliss stared back in shock.

<Now this is a position I never thought I'd see you in,> he said in his quiet, controlled voice.

Terliss didn't respond for a moment, but then gasped, <Likewise.>

He turned around, each step sending an earthquake through the floor, and his face, which had aged since the last time I saw him, still punctuated by that terrible diagonal scar, smiled down at me. <I take it there are gaps to be filled, ma'am?> he asked.

<Yes, everything,> Terliss gasped incoherently. <I want to know everything.>

He shifted again, a mountain range, the spark that incites a celestial event, an impending natural disaster. And then, in an act entirely unsuited to him, Jennor's father laughed.


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Jennor

Chapter Sixteen

Jennor

I always felt strange now. Knots twisted and untangled in my gut. Shame burned through the back of my neck, my shoulders, and shins. I was always on my guard, always feeling like something just beyond my line of sight was going to get me.

I gazed over at the controls from my limited view on the ground. So easy just to touch the communications panel and dial up my father. Easy, and shameful and cowardly. Easy and yet, so impossible.

<Are you still cold?> Trainer asked, always looking out the view screen, always preventing me from my ultimate goal.

<Yes, sir,> I said absent-mindedly, knotting my fingers together in a futile attempt to evict and relocate the tightening, twisting sensation from my stomach.

<Give me one moment,> he said, logging out of the computer and retreating to his quarters. I didn't watch him as he walked by. I hadn't looked him in the eye in weeks.

He came back with a thin thermal blanket, genuflected before me, and wrapped it around my shoulders. Immediately I felt its perfect reflection retransmit all the heat dissipated from my body. I grasped its edges with my fingers, pulled it close. Trainer bowed down so he could gaze into my face.

<Better, no?> He asked. I nodded, looking away. <Come, Jennor, look to me,) he said, touching my face with his warm fingers. I wanted to pull away, but I obeyed the slight pressure they offered my cheekbone and looked into his eyes.

Cold midnight burned with Dracon fire. Supernovas eons before they collapse into black holes. Lightning in the west.

He gently stroked the skin on my cheek, though his grip was not weak. I'd bargained this away. It wasn't painful. And though it had been happening for so long, it wasn't comfortable, either. I could imagine much more painful forms of torture, but somehow, it was worse than any of those things.

<I will bring happiness to those eyes,> he vowed. <We will fight in grand battles, Jennor, and we will win. Yeerks will bow before our awesome power. You will stand, conqueror of them all.>

I attempted a smile. Maybe then he'd leave me alone.

It had been four more years. I was nearly a decade old. Almost all of that time had been devoted to space travel. We'd stopped at outposts occasionally, getting news from Andalites who had direct access to the intelligence grid. Trainer censored much of it from me. We'd run into a couple of battles, but they were nothing spectacular. Rogue Bug Fighters and Andalite fighters accidentally brushing up against each other's scanning radii. Obligated by mutual hate, we engaged. These were not battles I actually participated in. Trainer told me to go to my quarters while he took care of flying the ship and managing weapons. I asked if he would teach me to fly and shoot. It was clear he was at least proficient, if not eloquent, in the language of space battle. He told me I was not yet old enough.

Not old enough to learn, fight, or live, it seemed. Any time we met any other Andalites, I morphed into Cristex. I'd spent enough time in his form to accommodate myself with it completely. I always asked Trainer if I looked older, if I'd spent enough time as the male cadet to physically age. Trainer laughed at my concerns. I asked when it would be all right for me to meet other Andalites as myself. Trainer always said, <A few more years,> but I didn't think he meant it. I think he was more ashamed of the fact I was a female than the fact I was still a child. That was something I could not mature away.

There wasn't much to do on the ship. Every morning, I reviewed tail fighting forms and did what little exercise I could in the tiny space. I couldn't come to terms with my claustrophobia. I spent much of my time with eyes closed, imagining I was home, but sometimes panic would overtake me and Trainer would have me sedated.

Afternoons were less structured. I spent most of them reading. This was the only contact with the ship's controls I was allowed. The Academy of Sciences and the Arts offered many lessons through the intelligence grid. I downloaded as many new lessons as I could whenever we reached an outpost. I read literature, learned math and astronomical physics, spent some time studying military strategy, and much reveling in what Trainer called "mindless propaganda." Trainer told me that I'd never catch up to my peers, that thinking for myself was a waste of energy, that I was designed for another purpose. I didn't want to catch up. I just wanted a distraction from the limited space in the ship, from my own fear and unworthiness, from…other things. I distracted myself other ways, too: I downloaded children's games, a holographic serial called "Pollirim and the magical  _estreen"_  that I quite enjoyed, and of course, every back issue of  _The Warrior Chronicles_ that had been released since our last contact.

Distracting myself, however, was only one of my goals.

I had an ulterior motive at the ship's controls. It had taken years, but I had finally accepted that every excuse Trainer gave me for not allowing me to call my father was a deflection. He never intended me to touch the controls of the ship. I would never learn to fly or shoot, I would never talk to anyone other than him. At least not while he was aware.

I traded the stalk eye always reserved for me with one always reserved for him. He knew I stared, but he did not seem to mind. When I smiled, he smiled. It did not take much to defeat his suspicions.

Unlike me, he could not see my true intentions.

I watched him carefully, obsessively as I learned. He trained me unwittingly in what buttons to push to communicate. I learned to fly the ship and use every device on the panel through simple voyeurism. I had seen the first six digits of his thirteen-digit password, verified them, and memorized them. I'd gathered the rest, of course, though two of the digits were partially blocked from view by his body. After enough careful observation, I could deduce what they were.

Unfortunately, the password was only one component of gaining access to the communications panel. A voice print, retina scan, and memory scan were all required as well. I'd acquire him for the retina scan. The voice print would take work, but I could fake it. The memory scan required different preparation entirely.

Fortunately, convincing Trainer to engage in this preparation was not difficult. Since accessing his memory of my near death, I touched his cheek on a regular basis. This, in itself, wasn't so terrible. I'd done it with Terenia and felt no shame or disgust about it then. But then again, Terenia hadn't insisted on touching me in return, hadn't withheld herself if I didn't offer something to compensate. And when Terenia did touch me, it wasn't with that strange, slimy fascination, that reigned-in excitement that threatened to overtake him…He wasn't just touching me. He was caressing me. When I pressed my cold hands to his temples, I pretended to enjoy it like he did. I had an unachieved goal in mind. Despite my discomfort, it was necessary. I needed to keep telling myself this.

His memories, for the most part, were unlike Terenia's. Terenia seemed to view everything as it was—she did not judge the things that happened to her. Maxims helped her to cope with this; often she said things to me like "life sucks, then you die" or "the only certain things are death and taxes." Trainer, conversely, viewed things as they could be. Each memory was shaded with what had been done wrong, what could have been done better, what could still be fixed. He was self-loathing and totally ambitious. Everything that was not perfect was a failure upon which he worked to improve. I was his latest undertaking.

Of course, his failures were not only professional. Much of his thought was devoted to a girl he knew, a few years younger than him. He seemed to love her. She seemed familiar.

He asked me one day what I thought of her.

<She is beautiful,> I said diplomatically.

He seemed troubled by my answer. His eyes were worried. <Yes, she is,> he responded softly. <She is a lot like you.>

I shrugged. It made sense that he fixated on people with similar traits.

In order to accelerate the process of uncovering the memories he used as his combination, I subtly reminded him of my desire to speak to my father during these intimacies. He laughed me off, but sometimes a quick succession of memories resembling a combination emerged—brother suns,  _Garibah_ , Blade Ship, tail-blade shaped mountain—but then he'd stop. Distract himself, jerk away. I never seemed to get far enough.

This was the work I did as we traveled.

One week later, Trainer informed me that he was sick of Zero Space and had discovered a new system that required our help. When we finally reached our second destination, I didn't want to watch our descent to whatever planet or moon he'd chosen to condemn us to. I was losing enthusiasm for fighting.

When I glanced at the expansive asteroid below us, my breath was taken away.

From far away it appeared uninhabited. A broad, flat, gray rock that, miniaturized, would be a perfect skipping stone. There were a greater-than-average number of armed sentry ships and heavy artillery drones in orbit, but other than that, it was barren. I was about to ask why they were there when we penetrated the deflector shield, a sort of static-snow disruption on the viewscreens and mild turbulence that vibrated beneath my hooves.

Very abruptly, a vast community was evident before us.

Even more populated than the planetary system we'd briefly visited, the sparkling, gray asteroid was covered with Andalite life. The flat surface seemed to be divided into thirds. The first was largest and most obvious. Directly in the middle, like a vibrant, shielded heart, was a large ecodome covering a perfectly manicured slice of the homeworld that made my eyes misty. I craved moist grass. I hated drinking out of a bucket. A giant shipyard covered the easternmost portion of the rock, filled with parked fighters. Open transports whizzed down the rows and up the columns in makeshift traffic routes, automated so they crossed in front of each other with inches to spare, a giant, mechanized loom weaving hover trails.

The closer we advanced, the more details emerged, lovely and desirable. Young men bucked around, playing with each other, tapping their tail blades together in jest. Groups of high-ranking military officials trotted around seriously, discussing grave hypotheticals. Despite the size of the asteroid, gravity seemed normal, but I didn't want to waste the precious few seconds of this view searching for the field generator. The final third of the asteroid consisted of rows and rows of army scoops, camouflaged in shades of gray and silver, lining the dusty surface in slightly curved patterns to account for the oblong shape of the asteroid. Andalites milled and ambled and strutted normally. Relaxed. No one wore oxygen masks. There was air. I was disturbed by how happy that made me.

Trainer gained landing clearance and parked in the lot, kicking clouds of dust into the air. A young  _aristh_ , stepping out of a transport, met us once we disembarked. I morphed to Cristex, hating the blindness it caused me.

<Welcome to the Anati system,> the cadet said boredly, eyeing Trainer and I. <Do you have any special training that could be of use here?>

<No,> Trainer said. <Just combat.>

<Very well. Report to the acquisitions tent. You're in luck, we're attacking Inner Asteroid 42 tomorrow.>

Trainer and I walked across the dusty landscape, hooves closed and diaphragms tight. The air was thin and wispy and prickly with dust. We passed some Andalites on the way, realizing that they wore force field medical masks over their nostrils which kept all of the microscopic particles out of their lungs. Trainer put a hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him, seeing that one of his hands was over his nose, a primitive filter that would work for the time being. He nodded seriously to me, indicating that I should do the same.

Once we arrived at the acquisitions tent, I felt like a chair or delivery that was constantly in the way. Andalites brushed past Trainer and me, who would move to accommodate them, only to block the path of someone else. Finally shuffling me into a corner, Trainer signed the volunteer papers and we made our way to our new scoop.

The scoops were broad and flat and deep, unlike my scoop on Andal. Most of our scoop at home was exposed to the suns, so the dense, moist grass and flowers could grow, and the inside of the scoop was the dark part, covered with leather flooring, containing Father's few possessions. Here, it was like a large, flat-bottomed bowl covered by a shallowly pitched canvas. The entrance was like a grinning mouth, covered by an unfurled sheet. Surprisingly and frighteningly primitive. Trainer pulled back the sheet and stepped inside.

The inside was unfurnished, except for a long, hovering table that split the circle in half. A force field projector sat on top of the table, suspending the canvass in the air. Trainer claimed the side opposite of the entrance. I sighed, testing the ground with my hooves. Flat. Dense. The dust must have been treated with some chemical or process that kept it compacted. I felt my shins wobble. I was already hungry, and we'd departed our ship less than twenty minutes before.

We had little time to unpack and get settled. Fortunately, neither of us had much besides what we were wearing—I was allowed to wear my armed holster all the time now—but soon, a young Prince came to our tent and gave us our assignment for the battle the next day.

<Why are you a little girl?> He asked me.

<He sleeps better that way. It's his sister,> Trainer explained, grimacing at himself. The Prince did not look totally convinced, but didn't push the matter.

I didn't sleep very well that night at all.

We hadn't met many people, and we hadn't seen much of the asteroid, but the magnitude of what we were about to do weighed heavily on my mind. The entire field was at stake. Trainer explained it to me briefly—the field separated a full planet bearing a sentient, infestable race occupied by Andalite force, and a barren planet that served as the Yeerks' local base. If they took the asteroid field, they could mount an attack on the inhabited planet. If the Andalites took the field, the race was safe.

<What does the species look like?> I asked, exfoliating my tail blade with a buffing tool.

<Why does that matter?>

I paused. <I don't know,> I sighed quickly in surrender.

Trainer huffed and looked out of the entrance of the scoop. He liked to keep the sheet furled, so anyone who wanted to visit didn't feel unwelcome. Piles and wriggling snakes of dust had already migrated inside. That also meant I had to stay hidden, always clinging to the edge of the scoop.

<No one knows what they look like, Jennor.>

<Why not?>

<They send automated messages every two days. Communiqués, updates, even some literature and music, when they're feeling generous. They are a strictly religious species, and part of their beliefs keep them from inviting the "impure" onto the surface of their planet. At first, we thought that only meant the Yeerks, but it turns out they don't like any extra-terrestrial visitors. Contaminants. Plagues. They're a deeply paranoid race, apparently with very poor auto-immune systems.>

I stared at him sadly, thinking for a moment. <How can we even be sure they're down there at all?>

Trainer looked shocked for a moment, then mildly pleased. <We can't. Scans indicate that there is an industrialized civilization on the planet, and the scans are incredibly precise and specific. We can see what percentages of what compounds they mine from their planet and what method they use to do so, what nutrition is evident in the crops that they harvest, what fertilizers they use in their irrigation. Pollution in the atmosphere, infant mortality rates, migration patterns. The only proof intelligence officials have that we're actually saving anybody is that the scans are too immense to fake.>

<So this could all be a very well thought-out, detailed deception?>

Trainer was a proud Andalite who did not enjoy acknowledging the potential weaknesses of his race, but he maintained a healthy level of realism and doubt.

<I advise you not to think about it. Follow your orders and stay alive. Those are your two objectives here, no?>

Our mission was to protect a purely hypothetical race by ensuring the security of a bunch of floating rocks.

Like the last planet, most of the combat was automated, slow, and remote. A great majority of the asteroids were already claimed, each covered with Dracon Cannons or Ionic Dispersion Blasters and their automatic targeting systems, each taking any possible opportunity to destroy passing transports or shoot at targets that came within range as the field slowly revolved. A large computer buried deep underground somewhere on the base asteroid calculated what unclaimed asteroids were currently in range of the Yeerk's weapons, which routes would be safest to take transports through, which asteroids would be possible to target. Claiming the remaining asteroids was meant to be stealth work. Diversions, sneak attacks, espionage. Of course, the Yeerks had a similar hidden targeting computer and similar tactics, and we always ended up secretly claiming the same asteroids at the same time.

That is what required the presence of ground soldiers. These micro-skirmishes, these simultaneously accidental and presupposed sneak attacks would be performed by Trainer and me.

There wasn't exactly a sunrise to tell us what time to wake up—the asteroids were small enough that light filtered and reflected so it was always daytime. Climate control machines maintained the temperature at 55 degrees Fahrenheit, the relative humidity at 16%, and regulated the air composition so it mimicked Andal's. Day and night were obsolete distinctions. I blamed most of my insomnia on that. Trainer touched my shoulder and brushed my face and we made our way down to get organized.

I'd been an  _aristh_  for nearly six years now. Though I should have overcome any nerves by this point, I felt completely obliterated by fear. I had no war experience. Most of the period of my service had been in transit, floating around in space, unguided by rule or order, hidden from true combat. The briefest moment I had spent with an actual mission had ended catastrophically. How could I do this?

The only thing I could think to do was look to Trainer for guidance. He'd been in battles before, but his advice was incomprehensible.

<The dark-eyed monster will grab you tight, Jennor. If you can't feel when he grabs you, then he'll never let go.>

Though the time before a life-changing event feels limitless, it never is, and soon it was time to march to the rendezvous point.

Trainer and I had received our force field masks now, and breathed air that almost tasted normal. Dust kicked up around my hooves and gave my skin a dry, chalky feel. We boarded a transport filled with other men, all much older than my teenaged morph, and made our way to Inner Asteroid 42.

Inner Asteroid 42 was one of the smaller asteroids in the field, but its position was tactically perfect. Shielded by two large, fan-shaped asteroids orbiting it, and positioned closest to the inhabited planet, either side that won Inner Asteroid 42 would have a perfect base to launch an offensive and, with some audacity and luck, take the rest of the field.

The trip was short but memorable. The transport was covered with a shimmery force field that kept what little oxygen we had in our lungs. I got a close-up look of true veterans. Scars covered many of them, inerasable due to the psychological magnitude of the wounds that caused them. Eyes were misty and deep. Their shoulders were broad, and they breathed deeply despite the nearly palpable tension. I tried to emulate them, but I couldn't muster the resolve. They were practiced at the art of fear. One looked at me with deeply blue, unreadable eyes. He smiled, ready to say something, but stayed silent. I wished I could read his mind.

We landed soon on Inner Asteroid 42, where a caravan of transports was landing, unloading, and taking off like an assembly line. They shuttled back to the surface of the base asteroid to pick up more troops. We reported to the acquisitions tent, and Trainer made sure we stayed as far away from the front lines as we could.

<Not for our first go-around,> he said to me. <You'll see enough horror of war today.>

Then we waited.

It took hours of clawing, gnawing fear for things to get underway. Every two hours I had to slink away to remorph. It was only then, as my real self, that I felt overwhelmed. Everyone's fear reverberated in my mind like pinging sonar. I could hear selfish prayers, hopeless soliloquies, desperate rationalizing. I thought I had just been weak, feeling that way, but it seemed everyone dealt with it differently. I tried not to listen, but the feeling was so loud, so impossible to ignore. I morphed back as quickly as I could.

Soon, we lined up. There was no going back now. Trainer got us a spot near the back of the battalion, ready to fill in and die in case everyone else died in front of us. I swept my stalk eyes around, fear taking root and growing like some plant in fast-forward.

Trainer was talking and laughing with a small group of warriors, paying little attention to me. His stalk eye even broke contact a few times. He was having fun. I was terrified.

Then I saw him. The fear washed away, replaced with curiosity.

A Hork-Bajir.

I'd never seen one in real life before. Only holographic projections, idealized and pristine, strong and smug. This could not be a real Hork-Bajir. He was tall, lanky. Skinny. Undernourished. His blades were dull, and the skin around them was raw and bloody. Ribs protruded through his flanks. His reptilian lips were parched, cracked. An animal-like fear flitted behind his eyes. Like a stray  _djabala_  or a pack of mangy hoobers. He couldn't tell I saw him. He was far away, stooped over, watching.

I was amazed he had gotten so close. Automated targeting systems couldn't detect him, since this asteroid was not yet outfitted, but surely someone had scanning equipment, some kind of…

I looked at his waist. A long antenna sprung from some small device attached to his holster. Jamming equipment.

He was a scout.

I turned around and kept low, keeping an eye on him. He was hidden behind a large, jagged rock that broke up through the ground like a skeleton's mangled hand. I scooped handfuls of dust into my hands and rubbed it into my fur. Splashed it on my face like water. Covered my body with it. Deadened and camouflaged my bright blue fur as best I could.

I kept low, hidden. Crawled along the ground, hiding behind drifts of dust and any fortunate rock formation that met my path. Prayed that a cloud of dust I disturbed wouldn't give me away. I reached a rock directly across from where he was hidden. He was stooped over, trying to get his communicator to work.

I pulled my Shredder from my holster carefully, gently. Set the dial to kill. Raised it, and pointed it at the unsuspecting Yeerk.

Then I paused.

I was about to kill him. And he didn't know I was here. He would die, maybe without even knowing it, if my shot in practice was as good as it was in theory.

Dying without realizing it was one of my biggest fears.

<Yeerk,> I said, without any real force behind it. He turned to look up at me. Then his eyes went slack, losing the fear and tension, and he wailed to the sky.

I pulled the trigger.

I'd turned the dial up too high. The beam broke through the Hork-Bajir, splattering the rock he was hiding behind with blood and viscera, and hit the rock itself, shattering the structure. The thing came down with a crash, sending dust and rock high into the air.

I stared at the scene as it settled for some time. The rocks fell over the Hork-Bajir and buried him. I gave him the only private eulogy he'd ever receive:

<Sorry,> I whispered.

<Are you trying to make me look like a fool?> Trainer stomped over, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me to my hooves. <Why did you do that? You just gave our position away to every Yeerk within a 10-mile radius!>

<He was going to do that anyway,> I said, pointing over to the rock formation. Three Andalites were already hovering around it, a single Hork-Bajir hand exposed beneath the debris.

<Oh,> was all Trainer could manage to say, and he watched me with that single stalk eye, a new judgment there now.

We had sent scouts of our own.

Those returned.

Trainer and I got to leave the battle early. This relieved me greatly, not only because I hadn't quite figured out what I would do if the battle lasted more than two hours, but because my besting of the Hork-Bajir hadn't done anything to calm my nerves. I was more nervous than ever. Death had occurred almost effortlessly. A twitch of my finger had decided the rest of his life.

I wasn't paying close attention as Trainer and I returned to our scoop. The community thriving with Andalite life was now a ghost town. We were the only Andalites around.

<You can demorph, Jennor,> he said as we settled in. Once I was back in my normal state, I could read him so easily. He was disappointed. He gazed down at me with something like confusion, misunderstanding. I didn't know why.

<Did I do something wrong, sir?> I asked him after a few minutes, as the feelings continued to amplify.

<Of course not, Jennor. You're the hero of the day.> There was a quality to his voice that made me uncomfortable. Sarcasm? Rage? Something insincere and foreboding.

<I feel...> I began, uncertain about how to confront him. But then his eyes went glassy and silent.

<No, Jennor. _I_ feel. You feel nothing about this. It's sick. You just killed a man!>

<I killed a Yeerk,> I corrected, growing confused and angry. What was he accusing me of?

<You shot him like it was nothing. Like you were cleaning your fur or polishing your holster.>

<It was—> I began, but he cut me off.

<You are cold, Jennor, to speak like that. Don't be. Be the warm creature I know is under those sheets of ice. Be someone loving, someone empathetic, someone tender. Be more like your mother.>

I felt my mind wipe clean.

<You knew her,> I barely whispered. I meant it as a question, but the truth was already apparent.

<I didn't mean for this to happen. Not so soon. You're still so young,> he said, turning around, filled with regret. <This was meant to be so different.>

I shook my head slowly for a long time. Trainer stood with his back to me, one arm crossed, rubbing his jaw in deep thought.

I'd never been forced to think about her before. I didn't even know I was supposed to have a mother until Terenia first mentioned it. She was sorry, but I didn't understand why, because the thought of losing her had never even occurred to me. I'd simply never had one. Father had never spoken of her. Had he? If he had, it had been under the strictest implication that the matter never be brought up again. I'd kept it from my mind, but now every question that should have always been floating around like a single cloud marring a perfect sky descended upon me like a storm.

Who was she? What did she look like? How did Trainer know her? Why had Father refused to speak about her? What had she done? What had happened to her? What had killed her?

I opened my mind and read Trainer again. Carefully, acutely. He was still blocking me, but for the first time I discovered that with enough force, I could break through. It was not comfortable to probe so invasively; I could feel the strain on my tendons, my spine. The need outweighed the shame associated with intruding. I could break through so deeply that I could see almost as clearly as I would if I was touching him. It took every shred of concentration. I strained my mind to the brink. How far could I push it? How long could I hold it?

He was thinking of her.

 _Of course_ , I thought as a faded memory, unfocused and faint, passed through his mind. I'd seen her before. The girl he kept on his nightstand. The girl he thought of when touching my face.  _She is a lot like you,_  I remembered with a scoff. He looked at me.

<Are you satisfied?> He snapped.

<How was this meant to be different, sir?> I asked in reference to his previous statement, straightening my spine.

His eye narrowed and he smiled. <You weren't supposed to kill anyone,> he said.

<I am an _aristh._ That is my purpose.>

<Your purpose is to follow orders,> he responded, rage burning in his black eyes.

He turned back around, arms crossed tightly across his chest. He advanced slowly, tail twitching eagerly, eyes hungry with something.

<What happens when I give you an order, Jennor?> He asked, a wicked smile spreading through his eyes. Sadness flooded from his mind. A new resolve replaced it. He had a new plan. Something that made him giddy with anticipation.

Something told me to choose my words carefully. <If it is reasonable, I follow it.>

<Reasonable,> he laughed. <What is more reasonable than granting a man's greatest desire?>

He continued advancing upon me until I backed up to the dirt wall of the scoop. He grabbed my face hard in his stiff fingers, nails cutting down into my skin. I whimpered and grabbed his hands, trying to pry them off.

<Feel that, Jennor? Feel how warm?> He was stronger than me. In a flash, he grabbed my wrists and expanded his arms outward, forcing me right up against him. The muscles under his skin clenched and unclenched, gears and pistons in some vicious, murderous machine. His breathing was rapid and unforgiving.

All of his sadness seemed to flow, morph into fear, and infect me. My fur stood on end. My tail rose high into the air, twitching with desperate energy. But I froze. Out of duty, out of shock, I didn't know why, but I simply could not find the drive to fight him off.

<This was supposed to happen much, much later,> he lamented, drawing my struggling arms behind his back. <Never knew that something like "good at foiling plans" was a trait that could be passed down. Hold them there for now.>

<Sir, what—>

<Silence is your order, _aristh_. Is that unreasonable?>

I closed my main eyes and buried my face in his foreign, burning chest.  _Let this nightmare end,_ I begged nothing. <No,> I responded.

<Good.> For a few minutes, he held me there, tight against his body, hands traveling down my sides, over my arms, across my face.

<Your hands are cold all the way to your elbow,> he said with a strange laugh. <I never would have known.> Finally his hands came to rest at the base of my back, and as he worked the flesh there, sparks and shocks that weren't quite painful but as far from comfort as pain formed and wandered down my spine and dripped down my ribs, accumulating in some reservoir deep within my hindquarters.

He cupped my face in his hands and lifted it to his eye line as my breath rattled and gasped in my chest. Dark eyes, full of hate. Hate for me. Hate for her. Hate for himself.

<Turn around and put your hands against the wall, Jennor. Reasonable, no?> He asked.

I pulled my arms away from his waist. The undersides were warm now. They were rigid, tight, like my breath, like my tail. I was exhausted. Defeated. I stepped back away from him, avoiding eye contact. Slick with slime and disgust.

I closed my stalk eyes, but I could still hear the rampant thoughts rushing through his mind. Elation. Glee. Unchecked happiness, nearly manic. A part of me could see his intentions, his plans, his fantasies, and that part could extrapolate what the reality was going to be. A part of me would never admit to it. But all of me was sick with fear. That same feeling I had felt on the first day of training. Prickly electricity in my face, heavy nausea weighing me down. A feeling I had ignored from pride. A feeling I'd ignored because I wanted to please my father.

I turned around and put my hands against the curved, dirt wall. I felt one of his hands at the base of my tail, rubbing the underside. I was whooping with glee.

No, I wasn't.

<Sir, someone's coming,> I breathed too fast. He laughed.

<Be a warrior, Jennor, not a coward.>

<Best little _aristh_ in the field!> A voice cried out not too far away.

Shock froze every flame of happiness in his mind. He nearly bounded away from me.

<Morph, you insolent half-wit,> he growled. I obeyed.

Just as my tail blade stiffened into the hard, male version and my sight completely left me, a group of warriors from the battle earlier that day entered our scoop.

<There he is!> The same voice broke out. <Won us a battle today, didn't you?>

He bounded over to me and slapped me on the back, bucking like an untrained colt. Our scoop was only minimally furnished, or else he would have destroyed the whole thing. His tail, flinging out of control, put three gashes through the roof.

I loved him for it.

<Settle down,> Trainer said, clapping him on the shoulder, raising his tail. His seriousness was easily mistaken as facetious. Only I could see the contemptuous look he gave the young soldiers.

<Aww, you old hard-edge! Let your _aristh_ be a hero!> A second celebrant sang out. <We're going to play some driftball to celebrate. Rumor is even War-Prince Porrolack is going to watch!>

The other two warriors howled in laughter.

<Can you imagine him swiping a driftball?> One laughed. <You can't play driftball with a stiff metal rod holding up your tail!> They cackled together.

I looked at Trainer. He was furious.

<I suppose one game would be acceptable,> he said with obvious restraint. < _Aristh._ I expect you back in no more than an hour. We have business to finish.>

<Yes, sir,> I responded. I was glad I was male, for the first time ever. I was sure I'd crumple if I could feel the clashing, polarized emotions coming from so many different sources, mingling with my own despair.

I'd never played driftball before. It was not difficult to learn, like most good games, but impossible to master. I could have benefited from my sight, I suppose, but I performed adequately without it.

I almost had fun. I scored two goals and blocked one from the opposing side. I would have enjoyed it, if not for the knowledge of what was about to occur.

That game became very significant. That was the last game I ever played as a child. Somehow, through six years of war, I had maintained my innocence. Was it because I hadn't killed anyone, like Trainer suggested? Was it because my ability had remained an untapped secret? Or was it because Trainer had kept me that way, waiting, biding his time, until he unleashed all of the nightmares and horrors he'd hidden away onto me?

None of those seemed like good enough explanations. It was something deeper, more personal. A foundational, unchangeable flaw that I recognized. I finally felt like I had failed at something that couldn't be fixed. My life was no longer a series of mistakes and lessons. This event, this mistake would define everything that followed.

I went back to the scoop after an hour. The War-Prince had come, played, and even smiled. He touched my tail blade with his and congratulated my "wicked eye." I thanked him for his kindness.

I had considered running away, but I knew I wasn't smart enough for that. He would find me, no matter where I ran. Even if I ran home. He was so much smarter than me. That's why he won. That's why the game was over.

I entered the scoop and he was standing, waiting for me. I demorphed without an order. Walked over to my previous position against the dusty, curved wall. He unfurled the sheet at the front of the scoop and followed me.

<Hands up against the wall, no?> He said.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published to fanfiction.net on 6/12/2009 and completed on 11/8/2010


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